Mirrorworld
by Tramontana Keeper
Summary: Ed managed to prove that he was truly from a different world, and Alfons finds himself captive in Ed's dream of opening the Gate. HeiEd, premovie, AU.
1. Demonic Influence

Edward paused in the middle of another of his fanciful tales of alchemists and monsters, and gave Alfons a quizzical look. "You're not listening."

"Huh?" Alfons looked up from his papers. "Of course I'm listening."

"No, you weren't." Edward frowned down at him, arms crossed. "You don't believe me."

Not _again_. "Edward, I…" Alfons really couldn't come up with a polite way to say '_No, I don't believe you. Either you're lying, or you're crazy, and I don't know which prospect is more disturbing'_. "They're very interesting stories," he temporized.

The answer did nothing to mollify Edward, who was never willing to just let things _go_. "They're not just _stories_," Edward insisted. "They're- _look at me_, Goddammit!"

"I'm trying to work," Alfons hunched over the desk, attempting to block out his roommate.

Edward slammed his prosthetic down on the table loudly. "Fuck the work! I can't live like this…" He dropped into the chair next to Alfons, head hanging. "Alfons, please. You think I'm crazy."

"I don't think you're crazy." Alfons cursed his communication abilities soundly. "Look, Edward, what was wrong with the way things were until now?" He gently touched Edward's right shoulder, the human one, and shook a little until Edward looked up. "I'm sorry I wasn't listening. Finish the story." He could never resist Edward when he looked so unhappy. Which, to be fair, was most of the time.

"You don't know what it's like," Edward's voice cracked, in one of his abrupt transitions from anger to depression. "I want…I can't…"

"I'm sure you'll manage to get home," Alfons tried. He wished he could believe in that other world, if only for Edward's sake.

"I…" Edward suddenly looked up at him, gold eyes completely focused. "I'll prove it to you. Will you let me prove it to you?"

Alfons recoiled slightly from the intensity of the stare. If there was proof…if it was true what Edward was saying…It would turn the world as he knew it completely upside down. How was he supposed to deal with that sort of thing?

_Will you _let_ me prove it to you_. Edward was giving him a way out. He could continue living in ignorance, humoring his enigmatic roommate.

And yet, if the proof was there to be had, how could the scientist in him resist?

"Show me," he whispered.

Edward opened his mouth to say something, then closed it with a small half-smile.

Alfons waited in curiosity, his heart pounding.

Edward raised his right hand – and started unbuttoning his shirt? He was finding it difficult, only using his right hand, and his fingers shook with what might have been excitement.

The German squirmed slightly in his seat, the whole situation having abruptly become completely surreal. He must be dreaming, thought the part of his mind that hadn't died of joy at the prospect of Edward undressing in front of him. It was only in his fantasies that something approaching a normal conversation would randomly turn into-

Edward growled with frustration at the stubborn buttons, and Alfons wished he dared offer to help.

Finally the shirt was completely undone, and Edward was fumbling with the straps that held his prosthetic on.

"There," Edward said in satisfaction, grabbed Alfons' hand and pressed it right up against the left side of his chest. "Just please don't scream."

The blush that had been threatening all along now exploded full force. Scream? Why exactly would he protest against this? Alfons hardly dared breathe, his hand burning where it touched Edward's skin. He couldn't begin to guess what exactly his friend was trying to prove, but certain parts of him were enjoying the situation immensely.

"Well? Do you feel it?"

Alfons found it difficult to hear Edward's voice over the pounding in his ears. All his attention was focused desperately on keeping his fingers from twitching, that it took him a moment to register what Edward had said.

"Huh?"

Edward rolled his eyes theatrically. "Moron. The heartbeat."

Heartbeat? Alfons focused his attention on the palm of his hand. Where…. Icy cold suddenly gripped him. Frantically he pushed harder against Edward's chest, previous feeling completely forgotten, but it didn't change anything. The skin was still warm, he could feel slight movement when Edward breathed, but _there was no heartbeat._

"Mother of God!" Alfons jerked his hand away as if he'd been burned, and nearly tripped over his own feet trying to get away. A demon! Edward must be a demon, he thought feverishly. How else could he be alive with no heartbeat?

"Alfons, calm down." Edward was advancing towards him.

With shame, Alfons finally understood his unnatural attraction to the man. Obviously Edward was some sort of succubus, sent to tempt him.

"Stay away from me!" Alfons grabbed a knife from the table and brandished it in warning.

He nearly panicked when the threat of a knife did nothing, and Edward continued to advance. For the first time in his life he wished he had a cross handy.

"I'm not going to hurt you." If Alfons had been listening, he would have heard the exaggerated patience in Edward's voice.

"Like hell you aren't! Heartless demon!" he shot back, still trying to keep his distance.

At that Edward paused, and momentary relief swept through Alfons.

"Demon?" the blond started snickering.

Could he make it to the door? Alfons wondered feverishly. He didn't dare yell, for fear of what the demon might do to him, but if only there was someone else around…maybe he could make a break for it, since Edward was busy laughing hysterically.

"Oh, for the love of-"

Before the German had taken two steps, Edward was on top of him. _He had to be a demon, how else could Edward, who had only one hand, overpower him?_

The knife skittered away, and Alfons brought both arms up to protect his face, whimpering in terror. All the horror stories the priest had ever told came rushing back.

"Stop panicking, dammit, you're supposed to be a scientist!"

The words had no meaning for Alfons. All he knew was that strong fingers clamped around his wrist, and then-

It took him several moments to realize that nothing terrible had happened yet. He was still lying on his back on the floor of his apartment, and Edward was still sitting on his stomach, an incredibly human expression of annoyance on his pretty features.

Edward's fingers were still tight on his wrist, and Alfons found the palm of his hand once again lying against Edward's chest.

Against his fingers, he could feel the unmistakable flutter of a heartbeat.

"See?" Edward said reassuringly, though he still looked like he was trying to fight off laughter. "I do have a heart. It's just on the wrong side."

"Wrong side?" Alfons tried to register the anomaly. His hand was now on the _right _side of Edward's chest, where he could feel the unmistakable evidence of a heart. Experimentally he touched the left side again. Nothing.

"I got flipped," Edward said gently. "On the way through. Right now, I'm like a mirror image of myself. See? Everything's on the opposite side."

"Everything…opposite?"

"Yeah. Just like with my heart. For example, in my world, the arm I lost was my right arm – and here I'm missing the left one. Same thing with my leg. I'm just reversed."

"So…" Alfons digested this slowly, "you're not a demon?"

He was rather insulted when that set Edward laughing again.

Only then did it occur to him that this was the first time he had seen Edward laugh like this, so hard he actually had tears at the corners of his eyes.

"You could have given me advance warning, you know," Alfons muttered, disgruntled. As embarrassment chased away initial panic, a new shock hit him. Edward was telling the truth, he realized. Despite everything, his roommate truly had come from a whole different universe.

But before _that_ shock could dig its claws into his mind, Alfons woke up once again to the fact that he was lying on the floor, with a half-naked Edward sitting on his stomach. And if Edward wasn't a demon, that meant that the sinful obsession for the man was completely his own.

Of all the revelations this day, that one might possibly be the worst.


	2. Long Night

Since the oneshot turned into a many-shot, I changed the title and summary to be more appropriate. Thanks to everyone who reviewed the first chapter, and remember - feedback is love.  
Betaed by shichahn, and encouraged by boxofdoom. The arc was approved by a whole bunch of friends of mine, who are wildly against Hei/Ed, but they said this was cute. Yay me?

**Warnings**: drunken boys, and one-sided shounen-ai (so far...). Minor movie spoilers, like Alfons' existance.

**Long Night**

For some reason, Edward seemed to think that because he had proved without a doubt that his stories were true, Alfons would now back him up.

It was 'Boys' Night Out' in a local pub, and Edward, as was his custom when he started getting drunk, was telling another wild tale of adventure.

To be fair, he was very popular. Most of the men didn't care whether or not the story was true, they just appreciated anyone able to spin a good yarn.

The nice part of that, Alfons mused, was getting the free beer. He felt absolutely no compunctions about cashing in on Edward's popularity, especially since it didn't look like Edward minded one way or another.

Whenever he went drinking with Edward, he always found himself in the role of 'babysitter', though Edward would probably not appreciate the sentiment. Alfons always listened carefully to make sure that none of Edward's stories fell into any sort of 'dangerous' category, and he also kept an ear out for the point in which Edward stopped having fun, and started getting weepy and talking about death.

Then he would make his apologies, drag Edward home, put him to sleep, and usually have to sit through another rendition of 'The Day I Died- the Second Time' by Edward Elric.

Once Edward was safely in bed, Alfons would try to fall asleep, and wonder to himself _why_ exactly he agreed to put himself through all this for his friend's sake. The crowning irony of the night would be that while Edward slept like a log until he woke with a hangover in the morning, Alfons would usually find himself waking in a cold sweat from nightmares of being chased by monsters and stabbed through the chest.

Tonight Alfons sat quietly, nursing his beer and enjoying the play of emotions on Edward's face. He allowed himself to entertain a small fantasy of brushing Edward's golden hair, running his fingers through it, Edward humming happily as he rubbed his scalp-face scarlet, Alfons choked on his beer, then looked around surreptitiously to make sure nobody noticed. Tomorrow he would justify these fantasies to himself by claiming he was drunk. After all, one couldn't expect to act (or think, as the case may be) properly when one was drunk.

Edward's story was winding down, and was being followed by the usual cries of skepticism.

"It's true, I tell you," Edward insisted. "Hey, Alfons," he suddenly called over, "tell them I'm telling the truth."

The other men greeted this challenge with laughter, and turned their attention to the German expectantly.

Alfons stared at him in horror, the blood draining from his face. What was he supposed to say? There was no way he could confirm Edward's story, they would just _both_ end up sounding like lunatics!

"I…" he stammered, staring straight at Edward, who was _grinning_ at him, having absolutely no concept of the trouble he had just caused. There was an obvious challenge in those golden eyes, and Alfons wanted to wail in despair. He wasn't _good_ at this sort of thing!

"O-of course it's true," he heard his mouth say, to his horror. Edward grinned wider, and suddenly Alfons found himself grinning back. "Only, Edward's keeping the best stories for himself! I bet you he never told you about the time…" and with that, he launched into a ridiculously improbable story about the capitol being invaded by a bunch of dragons. They were fought off single-handedly by Edward and his brother, who summoned up a lightning storm to defeat them, and ended up frying all the telephone lines.

He watched Edward laugh along with the others at the sheer silliness of his story, and felt a thrill of excitement.

_We have a secret,_ Alfons wanted to say to Edward. _It's not only your story anymore. It's mine too, because I know it's true. _

At the end, they both laughed, because they both knew that Alfons had made up a bunch of drivel, while Edward was telling the truth, and that they were the only ones who knew the difference.

* * *

Alfons was surprised, to say the least, when Edward was the one to suggest they head back. It was a rare thing to see Edward lucid after a night of drinking, but Alfons wasn't going to pass up the opportunity. 

True, it meant that on the walk home he wouldn't have an excuse to hold a drunken Edward, but on the other hand having a conversation partner definitely made up for that.

Edward walked quietly beside him, though every so often he glanced sideways at Alfons, so much that Alfons began to worry that he had said something wrong.

"You're not bothered because I told that story, are you?" That was the only major way in which today had been different from other days, and Alfons now wondered if it hadn't been such a good idea.

"Huh? No, of course not!" Edward looked surprised. "Why should it bother me? It's not like it was real…and anyway, it was sort of funny." Edward abruptly looked away, and Alfons wasn't sure if he had seen a blush on his face or not.

"It was weird hearing you tell a story about me," he continued. "I almost…"

Alfons found himself having to backtrack, as Edward had paused in the middle of the sidewalk, and was looking at him with a curious expression. As always, Alfons was unnerved by the intensity of the gaze, yet at the same time excited.

"Alfons," Edward said, his tone wistful, "Would you…"

When he didn't continue after a moment, Alfons prompted, "Would I what?"

Edward abruptly resumed walking. "What?" he said, blinking guilelessly at Alfons.

"You were going to say something!"

"Was I?" Edward scratched his head, smiling innocently. "I have no idea. Guess I'm drunker than I thought."

"You…" Alfons sighed, his heart sinking. Somehow, he had thought that they had grown closer. Maybe he had imagined their camaraderie that evening, because now Edward seemed to be blocking him out again. They kept walking, Alfons a few paces behind Edward, still lost in gloomy thoughts. Being Edward's friend had been nice, while it lasted, and he couldn't help but want to try and resurrect the feeling.

Alfons screwed up his courage, and decided to ask a rather leading question. "Edward…have you ever been in love?"

Crap. He hadn't meant to ask _that_. He furiously tried to come up with some way to defuse the situation, preferably _before_ Edward jumped to unpleasant conclusions.

Edward blushed, and Alfons forgot all about defusing the situation, and set about trying to convince his mind that the words 'cute' and 'Edward' did not belong in the same sentence.

"I don't know," Edward said uncomfortably. He chased the blush away, and stared challengingly at Alfons. "Define 'love'."

Why had he even bothered being worried? Alfons wondered. Edward was about as dense as a brick when it came to these things.

"Well," he said, "I guess it's when you really care about someone. When you want to be near them, and when they're happy it makes you happy." It was so sappy Alfons wanted to cry. Couldn't he have found a better way to put it?

But Edward, at least, was taking it seriously. His eyebrows were furrowed, and he seemed to be giving this problem the same amount and intensity of thought he would give a complicated mathematical equation.

"Yeah," Edward finally said. "I guess I am in love with someone, then."

Alfons gaped, too stunned to even notice that part of his mind wanted to crawl into hole somewhere and die. "You are?"

Edward nodded decisively. "With my brother."

The German stopped completely, shocked to his core. His _brother_? And Edward could just stand there in the middle of the road and _admit it_?

Edward was looking back at him, confused.

"You…you…" Alfons stammered. And he thought _his_ desire for Edward was twisted! What kind of person could actually _want_ their own _brother_?

"What?" Edward looked antagonistic. "You asked-"

Alfons grabbed his shoulders and demanded in a harsh whisper, too disturbed to be tactful about it. "You want to have sex with your _brother_?!"

"What?" Edward glowered at him. "Who said anything about sex? That's disgusting."

"But you said you were in love with him!"

"_You_ were the one who defined 'love', and you didn't say anything about sex!" Edward shook Alfons' hands off his shoulders.

"I thought it was obvious," Alfons protested. How exactly did everything always end up his fault?

"It's like defining a horse as a brown thing with four legs, and not mentioning it's a mammal! Obvious, my ass. If you're going to define something, do it properly!"

Most of the time, Alfons worshiped Edward's analytical mind. Right now, he detested it. "Fine, so ignore that. Redefine it as 'somebody you care about that you want to sleep with'. Happy?"

"My _brother_," Edward hadn't finished ranting. "That's just so _wrong_." Abruptly he whirled on Alfons. "What's up with you and your assumptions? First the demon thing, now this…"

Now it was Alfons' turn to blush scarlet. He _didn't_ want to remember that.

Sensing his advantage, Edward looked at him slyly. "Hey, Alfons…"

When the German turned to him, Edward abruptly stuck out his tongue and used his fingers to mimic devil horns.

"Stop that!" Alfons practically shouted. "That's _not fair_. And get back here!"

* * *

Maybe tonight he wouldn't have any weird nightmares, Alfons thought to himself sleepily. He was right on the verge of falling asleep, when his door creaked open. He wasn't quite sure whether or not he was dreaming; he rather hoped he wasn't, because if this was a dream, something would be jumping on him and trying to claw out his eyes any minute now. 

"Alfons?" Edward whispered from the doorway. "Are you sleeping?"

"Yes," he mumbled. "Go away."

Edward, being the contrary nuisance he usually was, took that as an invitation to enter the room.

"What about you?" Edward asked.

"Huh?" Was his mind exceptionally slow tonight, or had Edward just uttered another one of his complete non-sequiturs?

"Alfons, wake up a minute." Sure, he had no problem waking up. It was hard to do anything else when Edward was shaking him.

"What are you talking about?" Alfons finally groaned, rolling over to look at his friend. Though right now he wasn't feeling terribly friendly towards him at all. He was buzzed, dammit, and he wanted to sleep.

"Are you in love with anybody?" Edward asked patiently.

It took Alfons a moment to register the question. "You woke me up for _that_?!" he finally snapped.

"I was only wondering," said Edward defensively. "And besides, you asked first."

"Well, you never answered, so we're even. Go away now."

"I want to know!"

Alfons rolled over and tried to cover his head with the pillow. "What makes you assume I'm in love with anybody, anyway?"

"Why else would you bring up the subject?" Edward tried to snatch the pillow away. "Come on, you _are_ in love with someone, aren't you?"

"Gah! Fine! I'm in love!" Alfons threw the pillow at Edward's head. "Are you happy now? Can I go to sleep?"

Edward was now looking at him curiously, the pillow on the floor by his feet. "Does she love you back?"

She. There was really no getting around that. Alfons looked away, a headache beginning to throb between his temples. He didn't know what to do. Was he in love? Was this more than just _wanting_? Would Edward ever want him back? "I don't know," he finally said sadly.

He probably would never know.

"…what are you doing?" he mumbled, when instead of leaving the room, Edward sat down on the side of the bed.

"Move over," Edward ordered. "I'm just going to sleep here."

That woke Alfons up again. "What? Why?"

"My room is all the way down the hall. Besides, what does it matter? We're both guys. And your bed is bigger than mine, we can both fit in."

"No!" Alfons protested, nearly panicking. Sleeping with Edward, in the same bed, that was just too much temptation for him to bear.

"Why not?"

"You'll…probably kick me with your prosthetic or something," he stammered lamely, then wished he could take the words back.

"Oh." Edward's face fell, and he backed off without a word.

"No, wait, I didn't mean it that way!" Alfons got up to chase after Edward. He grabbed at Edward's sleeve, temporarily arresting his movement.

"Really now." There was an ugly note in Edward's tone. "Obviously the thought of being so close to a _cripple_ sickens you. I'll just get out of your way."

All Alfons could see was the top of Edward's head. The shorter man was doing an excellent job at avoiding his gaze. "I didn't say that!"

Edward said nothing, but jerked his arm away. Refusing to give up, Alfons latched onto him, wrapping both arms around him.

After several minutes of squirming, Edward finally stopped and glared up at the German. "I could throw you easily, you know."

"I know," Alfons panted with the attempts at keeping his hold on Edward. His lungs were already beginning to twinge, and he hoped he wouldn't start coughing. "I'm actually praying you won't, because it doesn't sound like something I would enjoy."

They stood silently for several moments in the middle of the room, and then Edward spoke up again.

"Are we going to stand here all night?"

"I'm actually rather enjo-" Alfons cut off the sentence quickly. Shit. Fine, so it was nice standing in the middle of the room and holding Edward. How could he forget that Edward didn't feel the same way? Not to mention, _how could he possibly be stupid enough to say anything about it? _"Let's just go to bed."

Edward twisted his head around to look up at Alfons. For a long moment, Alfons found himself weighed, judged, analyzed – then, with a soft sigh, Edward looked away.

"Fine," he said, and allowed himself to be led back to the bed.

After several minutes of rolling around and tugging the sheets back and forth, they finally found a comfortable position.

* * *

When Alfons woke up the next morning, uncomfortably bruised from the prosthetics, with Edward's hair in his mouth and not nearly enough room in the bed, he was surprised at how lucky he considered himself. And, Heaven help him, how much he wanted to wake up like this every morning. 

The only disappointment was that it would be nice to have been wrong about the kicking part.


	3. Unbirthday

:) finally, this story is going to start moving quickly. Shichahn, my wonderful beta, has time to work on it, and I'm waiting to start school, so I can finally spend time writing this.  
Rating for this chapter is quite low, no warnings at all I think, but that will be changing in later parts. The chapters are not of uniform length- this one happens to be shorter than most.  
Title stolen from Lewis Carroll.  
Thanks to everyone who reviewed so far! You all are wonderful encouragement.

**Unbirthday**

When Edward volunteered to do the shopping, Alfons was immediately suspicious, considering Edward _hated _shopping.

Every time Alfons suggested pointedly that it would be nice if, for a change, somebody _else _went to buy food before they ran out, his roommate always managed to weasel his way out of the duty. So far, Edward had gone through a repertoire of antics that would have put even the cheekiest schoolchild to shame. He arranged to be home late on market days, and came down with a variety of maladies, from headaches to diseases Alfons had never heard of. He feigned sleep, and invented a whole host of errands to run.

Alfons tried not to give Edward a hard time about it. It only took one time of watching his friend struggling to carry the bags and keep his balance on his prosthetics at the same time to convince him this wasn't just laziness on Edward's part.

If Alfons came along as well, Edward could usually be persuaded to help out, so he assumed that Edward was asking him to come when Edward offered to do the shopping.

"Just let me finish this, and I'll be ready to go," he said absently, adding the final touches to a bit of correspondence.

"You're busy," Edward said. "I can go by myself."

Alfons nearly dropped his pen in surprise. "What? But you never. . . "

"Well, today I want to."

"But. . ." he protested, inspecting Edward's face for some hint of what the man was thinking, "Won't it be difficult for you, with your leg. . . ?"

It was definitely the wrong thing to say. Edward scowled and clenched his fists.

"If you're implying that because I'm crippled I'm incapable of doing something simple like-"

"No!" Alfons broke in quickly. "I just meant that-"

"At least _I _don't collapse wheezing after walking barely a kilometer," Edward snarled, and stormed outthe door.

"Shut up!" Alfons shouted after him, then stared morosely at his papers. Lately it seemed that all they did was fight with each other. Almost anything that Alfons said would rub Edward the wrong way, somehow, and he would retaliate, usually painfully. Before Alfons had told Edward he believed him, they had almost never fought.

Actually, Alfons thought suddenly, they had almost never _talked. _A slow smile made its way onto his face. Edward talked to him, now, and listened to him, and looked at him - no longer _through _him. Maybe there was hope.

Alfons suppressed a cough, and went back to his writing, feeling decidedly more optimistic.

* * *

Edward staggered in two hours later, overloaded with bags, and Alfons quickly got up to help him. For a moment he worried that Edward would still be angry over earlier, but it seemed that his friend had forgotten all about it.

The moment the bags were down, Edward started rummaging in one of them, and pulled out a rectangular, paper-wrapped package.

He handed it to Alfons, who inspected it curiously. From the weight, he could tell that it was a book.

"I saw it, and thought of you," Edward said gruffly. "Happy Birthday."

Alfons opened and closed his mouth several times. He couldn't help the warm excitement that was spreading through him —_Edward bought him a present! _But… "You do know that my birthday was four and a half months ago?"

"Details." Edward waved his hand dismissively.

Suppressing excitement, Alfons tore at the paper. It didn't matter if it was the most boring book in the universe. The very fact that Edward had _thought _of him and actually bought him a—

Alfons stared at the book, emotions warring with each other. Embarrassment, fury, disappointment, and amusement all clamored for attention, and Alfons wasn't quite sure how to react, so he just stared at the book silently.

"1 thought it was sort of funny," Edward said uncertainly, already wilting slightly. Alfons' mouth worked soundlessly for a moment. "You bought me a book on _exorcism," _he finally said hoarsely.

"Yeah, well," Edward sighed. "Like I said, I thought it was-"

"You _idiot," _Alfons managed, and dredged up a smile from somewhere. The little traitor in his brain chose that moment to pipe up— _he cares about you! See, he's teasing you. He never teased you like this before, did he?_

Maybe he was grasping at straws, but suddenly Alfons felt a whole lot more benignly disposed towards Edward. So much so that he grabbed a sofa cushion and proceeded to attack Edward with it.

"Ack!" Edward ducked away, but he was laughing now.

"I'll show you exorcism!" Alfons threatened, and flipped the book open on a random page. "Ut enim ad..." he trailed off for a moment, trying to work out the words, while Edward snickered.

"Forget it," he finally huffed, and pointed at Edward with the book. "I command you to go put away the groceries!"

Edward grinned at him, and suddenly the sight of Edward standing there with his eyes animated and his face flushed, hair mussed and clothes rumpled was too much for Alfons. It evoked all sorts of _want _inside of him, and he looked away, disturbed by the feeling. It wasn't fair, he thought morosely. Finally Edward was opening up to him, but he was too preoccupied with his own unnatural desires to be able to just enjoy the friendship Edward offered.

He turned the book over in his hands, and smiled slightly at it. Yet, Edward had bought him a present, and that thought evoked all sorts of silly, fuzzy feelings inside of him. It wasn't that he dared hope, but maybe. . .

Sighing, he ran his fingers gently over the book's binding, not noticing Edward's eyes watching him intently from the kitchen.


	4. Motor Functions

So...I know it's unbetaed. The problem is that, unlike pretty much everybody else right now, I have all this free time. And I start university in less than a month, and I really want to get this story going (I mean, there's a plot. I promise there's lots of plot to come!) and I know once I start university I won't have nearly so much time to write, and I really don't want to leave this story hanging too badly. So I'm just going to go ahead and post this part, and hope it doesn't suck to badly, what with being unbetaed and all.

Thanks SO much to everyone who's been reviewing! XD those reviews really make my day, and do much in terms of encouragement.

* * *

"Edward, could you pass me the book on your left?" Alfons asked absently, while studying some calculations. Edward made a noncommittal sound, and handed him the book. Frowning, Alfons repeated, "I said the book on the _left_, Edward, this was on your right." 

"Huh?" Edward looked up. "Left…" he stared at his hands for a moment, embarrassed, then handed Alfons the proper book. "Sorry."

This wasn't the first time Edward had gotten his directions mixed up. It almost seemed like any time he wasn't concentrating, he was liable to get them wrong. Alfons had heard of people born with problems with their brain, which caused them to mix up things like letters and directions, but somehow he didn't think Edward was like that.

_Unless_…a new thought occurred to him.

"Edward, do you think the reason you get confused between right and left is because you got 'flipped'?"

As usual when he was focused on reading, it took Edward a moment to realize he was being talked to.

"What?"

Patiently, Alfons repeated the question.

In response, Edward snorted. "Of course it is. That was your big epiphany?"

Well, that was rather insulting. Alfons subsided momentarily, then looked up again. "But if all your directions are reversed, how can you move at all? Isn't it awfully confusing?"

Apparently giving up on ever finishing his book today, Edward closed it and turned to Alfons. "Most of the time, I don't feel like anything's different. This," he waved his right hand, "feels like my left hand."

Wondering how a right hand could possibly ever feel like a left hand, Alfons contemplated his own palms. Frankly, he couldn't imagine it. "That doesn't make sense."

"I'm sorry if my existence insults your delicate sensibilities," Edward snarked. "This is highly advanced physical theory. There's no point in denying what we already know to be true; deal with it."

It was true, but they were difficult concepts to swallow. "Can I see your hand a minute?" With a long-suffering sigh, Edward held out his hand and allowed Alfons to contemplate it. There was something about Edward he never quite understood. Despite Edward's grumbling, he would often humor whatever silly whim Alfons happened to have at any given time, and Alfons wasn't quite sure why Edward consented to this.

Of course, he thought while running his fingers over the lines on Edward's palm, it all started when Alfons started believing him. By such a small –though at the same time, enormous- admission, Alfons had sneaked past Edward's prickly barriers.

The hand was disappointingly normal, Alfons was forced to conclude. If he didn't know that Edward considered this to be his left, and not right, hand, he would never have found anything strange about it. Admittedly, it was a very _nice_ hand; the fingers were not long, but they were attractive, and the roughness and calluses lent the hand a feeling of strength. Alfons curled the fingers together in a fist. Utterly different from his own soft hands. He was just getting to the part where his mind started betraying him by imagining what that hand would feel like on _him_, when Edward's cough snapped him out of it.

"Sorry!" Alfons knew he was blushing furiously, and wondered what Edward must be thinking of him. Belatedly, he let go of the hand. "It seems totally normal. For a right hand, I mean," he tried to rein in his babble reflex. If Edward knew what fantasy-fodder he had provided with this little gesture, he would probably be horrified.

…and why was Edward still watching him? Did Edward, somehow, know about his thoughts?

"You…you can go back to reading, now," Alfons stammered nervously. Edward shrugged.

"Are you sure? You've got the look that usually means you're going to pester me about something for the next few hours."

"No, really!" Alfons protested, then checked himself. On second thought, if they were already on the topic…"Edward, what's your world _really_ like?"

With a slightly 'see-I-knew-it' sort of look, Edward answered, "Haven't I told you what it's really like?"

"I mean….Do you have apples in your world?" For some reason that had been bothering him.

"Sure…and oranges and watermelons and all that stuff."

Any moment Edward was going to start laughing at him, but Alfons was too focused on his line of questioning to care. "Do people get married?"

"How else would they make families?"

It would be nice if Edward could drop the tone, though. The questions were not _that_ stupid. There was no knowing in what ways another world might be different!

Edward rolled his eyes, and added in a conspiratorial tone, "And Alfons, do you know that the sky is even _blue_?"

"Shut up." It _wasn't_ that stupid! He crossed his arms in annoyance and glowered at Edward, who was smirking. "What about religion? Do you have Catholicism in your world?"

At that Edward hesitated, looking rather uncomfortable. "Well…we don't have so much religion as there is here. Other countries may have more, but Amestris isn't… I mean, loads of people believe in God!" he quickly amended. "He just has different names and stuff. Some people call Him Ishbala."

He found Edward's squirming intriguing. Edward had made no bones about his lack of belief; why was he being so evasive now?

"What about religious laws? Like a day of rest, or giving to charity, or," Alfons tried to keep his voice nonchalant, "sexual relationships between men?"

Edward looked away, giving Alfons a wonderful view of his profile – was that a blush? Alfons could hardly breathe because of how his heart was racing – would Edward suspect? Had he been too transparent?

"There is a rest day, and most people try to help the poor, though there have been all sorts of issues with that, given that the country is run by the military. Often it's the government causing the trouble." Edward looked embarrassed, and Alfons wondered for a moment if he wasn't going to answer.

"About the…the sex thing…" Edward trailed off, then finally blurted out, "look, I don't think we should talk about that. It's taboo here, isn't it?"

Alfons stared at Edward, his mind temporarily shut down. Had he just witnessed Edward trying to be _diplomatic_?

And if so, could Edward have possibly chosen a worse time for it? Why couldn't he clam up sometime when it might actually make a difference, like when he got into fights with their teammates, or when he got drunk?

Apparently assuming the conversation was over, Edward had submerged himself in his book once again, leaving Alfons even more frustrated than he had been before.

Fine, so fishing like this was stupid, and foolhardy, and probably evil and immoral and would most likely land him in Hell, eventually. If he had any sense at all, he wouldn't push any further, and not tempt himself with sin.

He most definitely had to stop analyzing Edward's words, and coming to the tentative conclusion that it must _not_ be such an issue, because otherwise why would Edward make the point about it being taboo _here_?


	5. Hooked

I apologize for the wait. I've been having a terrible time with getting this story betaed. Oh how I miss the days when SeventhDaughter was available to look over anything, anytime...but now everybody I know's in college and stuff, and busy. Whereas I just want to finish this story before I start college myself, in a month --. I apologize ahead of time for any mistakes; I did my best to clean it up. I hope this chapter came out well, it's a bit of a change of pace. Though it's also longer! Woot!  
...and I also want to say that I seem to be slightly senile, and keep forgetting about the handy 'review response' button -- I got so used to not having it... so thanks to everyone who reads and reviews! 3 you all encourage me to continue.

* * *

**Hooked**

Overall, Alfons hadn't spent much time worrying about where his twisted desires would lead him. All he had to do was stay away from those places, like some of the bars downtown, which were conveniently frequented by men who would probably be amenable to his advances. His mother might no longer be alive, but the thought of the look on her face if she heard her son frequented those sorts of establishments still made him nervous.

Besides, he knew his clock was ticking. What was the point in throwing away his reputation (he firmly quashed any thoughts of hell and brimstone), when all he had to do was hold himself on a tight leash for another year or two at most? There was no hope of having anything approaching a 'relationship' anyway; only a fool would get overly chummy with a consumptive.

So Alfons made an effort to always associate himself with the sort of correct, upright people that would never even _consider_ the sort of things he thought of, and trusted them to keep him out of trouble.

On days when he was feeling especially cynical, he thought to himself that his disease could probably be considered some sort of gift from Heaven. He would probably be dead before he got up the courage to ever explore his options.

Alfons thought he was safe, so when Edward had moved into his life, he hadn't taken any especial precautions against him. After all, Edward hadn't seemed to like him much at first, so what did it matter if Edward was one of the most gorgeous people he had ever set eyes on?

Now that they were close, Alfons still hadn't felt any real warning bells go off in his mind. It wasn't like Edward was interested. Even if Alfons was sometimes a bit clingier than he had to be, or liked sitting close to Edward, or any number of little things, it wasn't hurting anybody. He wasn't doing anything wrong.

It became a game to him, trying to see if Edward would notice. He knew he was playing with fire, but he was too fascinated to care. Edward was from another _world_, and that meant he was safe. And if it didn't actually _matter_ so much, in Edward's world…well, that opened up a whole host of options that Alfons hadn't ever dared consider.

But Edward was oblivious. It didn't matter how many times Alfons managed to work heavy-handed innuendo into the conversation, or that he made a point of fussing with Edward's clothes and sometimes let his fingers linger a bit too long, or curled up next to Edward on the couch and pretended to fall asleep on Edward's shoulder.

For God's sake, what did it take to get Edward to _pay attention_? Nobody could be _that_ oblivious, it simply wasn't possible. Had Edward rebuffed his advances somehow, even violently, he would have been comforted by the fact that at least they were _noticed_, that his behavior mattered enough to Edward to remark upon.

As it happened, he hardly felt his carefully-built walls and boundaries crumbling until they were completely gone, and he was left with the simple fact that _he wanted Edward._

It took Alfons time to work out where he was going wrong. He thought of Edward's responses to situations, and finally concluded that he was using the wrong approach. Really, it should have been obvious that to Edward, who could easily skip meals and hours of sleep when he forgot about it, an argument along the lines of 'my body wants sexual gratification from your body' held absolutely no sway. It appeared that Edward simply couldn't care less about bodily needs.

Emotions…now that was a different story. The longer he spent with Edward, the more he realized that Edward in his normal state was a bundle of writhing, contradicting, volatile emotion. The problem was that dealing with emotions always made Alfons nervous. They weren't quantifiable. They didn't follow any known pattern or formula. They made no sense at _all_ most of the time.

Some small, rather silly part of Alfons had sort of hoped that because Edward wasn't a girl, he wouldn't have to fuss about with all that 'feelings' business, but he quashed it firmly.

The question really came down to this: was Alfons willing to possibly humiliate himself in front of his roommate, and make the emotional investment necessary to get Edward to_ notice_ him?

_It's a bad idea_, the reasonable part of his mind said. Even if he managed to convince Edward, where would it go from there? Alfons firmly decided to ignore that thought. It didn't matter. He thought back to that old definition of love he had given. Did he care about Edward? Did he want Edward to be happy?

Heaven help him, the answers to those questions were far too obvious.

Did he want to stay with Edward forever? Thankfully, their current definition of 'love' said nothing about that.

* * *

"Edward, remember when we talked about the definition of 'love'?" Alfons' heart was pounding in his ears, but he had to say it, had to get it off of his chest.

Hints weren't working here. Every time he tried to somehow 'naturally' slip into the situation he wanted, Edward found a way to worm himself out of it. Insinuations went right over Edward's head, and apparently Edward had no concept of how to interpret body language. Since drunken Edward was usually far too miserable to be any help in that department, Alfons was finally forced to conclude that he would have to talk.

"Hmm?" Edward looked up idly from his crossword puzzle (it was a British one, Edward found them amusingly complicated), though there was a certain tension about him.

"Well, I," _dammit_, how hard was it to say a few stupid words? "I l-love you." Mortified at the quaver in his voice, and at the whole situation, Alfons dropped his eyes and studied the floor.

Edward sat silently for a few moments. "Including the sex part?" he finally asked, his voice oddly blank.

Alfons flinched, shutting his eyes reflexively. For once, just once, couldn't Edward figure it out for _himself_? "Yes," he whispered.

"You should stop." Edward sounded almost bored, and looked back down at his crossword.

"What?" Alfons felt like his heart had shuddered to a halt, and his brain wasn't quite functioning properly.

"If you mean it seriously," Edward said quietly, "then I'm telling you, stop feeling that."

"I can't!" Alfons tried to keep the wail out of his voice. If his feelings were something he could control, he would have done something about these desires long ago. "And…why not? You _said_ it wasn't considered nearly as big a deal in your world…" Well, Edward had _implied_ it, but that really counted as the same thing.

Edward looked at him again and there was almost pity in the expression, and he couldn't _stand _it.

"You said it yourself –here, it's a big deal." Edward shrugged, and he didn't know whether Edward truly didn't care, or was just pretending. "Trust me, this can't end well. I'd only end up hurting you."

How typical of Edward, to postpone actually _dealing_ with the problem, and dance around the subject instead.

"You're hurting me anyway," Alfons said bluntly, and was gratified to see a small chink in Edward's armor of nonchalance. "Tell me the truth. Is it because I'm a guy?" If that was it, then there really was no hope. But it had seemed like Edward might be attracted to men also.

Edward was silent for a long time, and Alfons started worrying. Edward wouldn't lie to him, would he? Edward was usually honest to a fault.

"No," Edward said heavily. "It's not because you're a guy. It's…because of how you look."

The words echoed strangely in Alfons' ears, and he sank down on a chair. Rejected. _Not _because he was male, even, but because Edward didn't like how he looked… Alfons felt a sort of queasiness in the pit of his stomach. It wasn't _fair_.

Something must have shown on his face, because he could hear Edward mumbling uncomfortably, "It's not that you're not… cute… or something…"

Which, in a way, only made it worse.

"So there's no hope?" he asked tiredly. He was so _sure_ – Edward kept giving him those looks, watching him contemplatively – stupidly, he had assumed that Edward was attracted to him.

Edward hesitated for a moment, making Alfons' heart leap with hope, but then he shook his head.

Oh God, he wished he hadn't said anything! In all probability, this stunt had lost him Edward's friendship as well. The thought of once again returning to stiff silences at the apartment was almost unbearable.  
So why, _why _did Edward always look at him, like…like he was looking right now, as if Alfons was someone _special_ to him?

He had seen that look before, Alfons realized. Seen a similar look sometimes when Edward looked at Officer Hughes, or Gracia…. And they looked like people from…

"It's because I look like someone from your world," Alfons said quietly. Edward jerked, shaking his head reflexively, and a look of panic flitted across his face.

"Who do I look like?" He half-hoped Edward would refuse to answer. From the look on Edward's face, Alfons suddenly understood that he really, really didn't want to know, wanted to deny the conclusion that his mind was jumping to, based on all those hints Edward had let drop over time.

"It's not…your brother," he found himself saying, almost against his will.

Edward shook his head again, but the look on his face was enough to tell Alfons he was right.

All this time he had been proud of being able to crack Edward's shell, to get close to the man, had even hoped that Edward might care about him as well.

But this!

"You _bastard_," Alfons said helplessly. "I take it that I'm nothing but a replacement after all."

"It's not-" Edward began, but Alfons stood up and glared at him, and the words trailed off into nothing.

Humiliation burned through him, and he abruptly dragged Edward up by the collar of his shirt. "How many times have you looked at me, and pretended to yourself that I was your brother?" he shouted furiously.

Edward cringed, hiding his face behind his bangs, which only made Alfons feel more vindicated.

"You're _sick_," he snarled, shoving Edward away in disgust. Edward made no move to resist and staggered, almost falling.

Alfons clenched his fists, breathing hard. Somehow, with that knowledge, Alfons felt reduced and unreal.

Everybody thought they were someone unique, but _knowing_ that there was another _him_ out there and that Edward knew them both, compared them both, was just too much for him.

Worst of all, given how Edward talked about and idolized his little brother, Alfons knew that he would end up on the short end of the comparison. It wasn't fair to lose his individuality to someone he hadn't even met!

"I'm not your brother!" Alfons snapped. "I'm my own person."

"I know," Edward said quietly.

Alfons shot him a disgusted look. "No, I don't think you do." And he turned on his heel and stormed out.

* * *

Betrayal, Alfons decided, swinging his legs morosely. That was what he was feeling right now. The park was a nice place to brood – not too many people around, and plenty of mossy stones where he could sit and stew and generally feel sorry for himself. It was gloomy here under the trees, the sun blocked by the leaves, and Alfons decided that the slightly dank atmosphere suited his mood perfectly, and ignored the residual wetness from the rain slowly seeping into his pants.

All this time, he thought that Edward was…well, someone he could count on. Edward was by no means his first roommate, but he was the first one that Alfons had felt so close to.

Even…even when he hadn't believed Edward, and the man would walk around telling all those crazy stories of his, Alfons had _still_ tried to make the best of it. He had listened, hadn't he? Anybody else would have thrown Edward into an asylum.

Finding out that the only reason any friendship had developed between them was because his face looked like that of Edward's brother…. Alfons felt a sudden surge of jealousy. Who was this brother, who deserved such adoration from Edward?

Alfons groaned. The irony was killing him; finally, he found a roommate he was attracted to, that didn't run screaming when he found out about Alfons' preferences (much less organize a mob to run him out of town). Trust his luck that this one person would be from a parallel universe, and that Alfons would be the spitting image of his _brother_. He coughed morosely, pain lancing through his chest.

That's right, the consumption. And this was _after_ he had lost his mother to the disease and his father to the war. Wasn't he going to get any breaks at _all_?

Well, he sighed, at least Edward had told him the truth. That had to count for something, didn't it?

He supposed it might matter a bit to the Cosmic Balance or something, but it didn't really change his situation right now. For once, why couldn't he have taken the impulsive way out? If he was going to get rejected either way, he might have well just attacked Edward and kissed him. At least then he would have known what Edward tasted like…

Abruptly reaching a decision, Alfons stood up. Edward had cared enough not to lie; that had to count for _something_. And if Edward was going to hate him forever anyway, what was one more offense?

Ignoring the fact that the seat of his pants and the cuffs were completely soaked, Alfons hurried back to Frau Gracia's.

* * *

He ignored her curious look as he darted upstairs, only calling a "hello" over his shoulder. She had already gotten used to the two of them tearing in and out of the house at all hours.

Alfons ran into the apartment, pleased to note that Edward hadn't gone anywhere. He was sitting by the kitchen table, but jumped up uncertainly when Alfons bore down on him.

"Alfons?" he asked uncertainly, warily scanning Alfons' face.

"You owe me at least this much," Alfons said, stalking up to Edward and pinning him against the table. Edward's eyes flickered from side to side like a trapped animal, but he made no move to resist when Alfons cupped the back of his head and pressed their mouths together.

Alfons had kissed few people in his life, but this was one that he wouldn't forego. Even if they never got any further, this would supply him with dream-stuff for a _month_.

At first, Edward hardly responded, passively allowing Alfons to nibble on his lips. Alfons was just reaching the part where he felt like some sort of would-be rapist and started to wonder frantically how he was going to apologize for _this _one. Being impulsive sounded very nice in his head, but it was rather different in real life. Best to just pull away slowly, and maybe leave the country for a few months.

He was caught completely flat-footed when Edward leaned forward, not letting him break contact, and started kissing him back. Alfons found himself anchored by Edward's fist in the front of his shirt, and his heart was beating so quickly he thought it might spontaneously combust. It got _really_ good when Edward introduced his tongue into the mix.

Finally Alfons pulled away and regarded Edward with some smugness, unconsciously licking his lips in satisfaction.

Edward didn't look nearly so happy. He hung his head, absently wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, but Alfons refused to be deterred by that. After all, Edward's response to the kiss was proof enough he wanted this.

"I wish you had waited a bit longer," Edward said, his voice strained.

"You want me," Alfons said, still reveling in the victory.

"I know," Edward said sadly, looking away.

"Then _why_ did you say you couldn't stand how I look?" Alfons exploded furiously.

"What kind of person am I, to be attracted to someone who looks exactly like my little brother?" Despair was in Edward's voice.

Alfons' heart sank, his anger at Edward forgotten. "I…didn't think…" Abruptly, he was furious with himself. How could he have botched things this badly? He had been so busy feeling betrayed, he hadn't even considered the fact that this might be difficult for Edward to handle, too. "I'm _not_ your brother, though," he tried, "It's not the same. I'm a different person."

"I know," Edward muttered, still not meeting his eyes. "But you look like him."

At that moment, Alfons would have given almost anything to look like somebody else. Actually, he really wanted to _be_ somebody else, preferably someone who didn't mess up their only attempt at a relationship. Barring that, he would very much like to have the floor swallow him.

Edward finally looked up at him, in an agony of indecision.

"I don't think you're in love with your brother," Alfons said, remembering their drunken discussion of a month ago.

"But…what if…"

Alfons broke down and resorted to pleading. Forget self-esteem; he wanted to kiss Edward again. "Edward, don't you think that maybe there's the slightest chance that it's _not_ your brother you want, but _me_?"

As usual, whenever Alfons embarrassed himself, it put a sort of fond smile on Edward's face.

It worked; Edward stepped closer, and slung the prosthetic around Alfons' neck, forcing his head down to where Edward could reach. This time Alfons savored the moment, locking the details in his memory: how Edward stood on his toes trying to reach him, the way Edward's body felt against his when he pulled their hips together, and all the eager little noises that Edward made when kissing. He firmly ignored the noises he himself made – they were too embarrassing to contemplate.

Finally they pulled apart, and Alfons was relieved to see that Edward looked slightly happier.

"Maybe," Edward said, trailing his fingers down the side of Alfons' neck, which made him shiver. "Just…I need some more time. Okay?"

Alfons nodded dazedly, his mind still caught up in a few moments ago. Gently, Edward pried Alfons' arms away from around him, and stepped away, vanishing in the direction of the sofa.

Still standing in a daze, Alfons had to suppress the sudden urge to dance around the room. There was hope!

And yet, Alfons suddenly thought of Edward's trepidation, that it couldn't end well… Firmly, he banished the thought from his mind. It didn't matter; theirs was a temporary arrangement anyway. After all, he was a consumptive, and Edward was going to leave. They might as well make the most of the time they had.


	6. Imperfection

IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT: As I have said earlier, some of my previous chapters have been unbetaed. Now, I do have Bakadeshi currently betaing for me (and a wonderful job she's doing), which brought about a few changes. Most of them are minor, but! Some of you may remember the scene from chapter 4, where Alfons is poking Ed on the shoulder and generally being a nuisance. Per her advice, I cut that scene out of chapter four (to make it flow better) and worked it into this chapter. So you will be seeing that short scene, and I apologize for the slight mess, and the repetition (it has, however, been edited out of chapter 4, and the rest of the chapter is new stuff).

**Warnings:** I would like to point out that, as of this chapter, the rating has officially gone up, mostly just to be safe. However, there will be no lemons in this fic, as that's against TOS (and my personal convictions).

I would like to thank everyone who's been reviewing; you all are awesome! Comments (both of the concritty-sort and not) are love.

* * *

**Imperfection**

One of the great joys of being close with Edward was the freedom of being able to tease him.

As they sat in companionable silence, each one quietly absorbed in his own work, Alfons found himself stealing glances at Edward every so often. It was _cute_ how absorbed Edward was in his work. If a meteor were to suddenly come crashing in through the ceiling, Alfons mused, Edward probably would just irritably tell it to be quiet.

Some childish part of him wondered what Edward would do if he poked him.

After all, they were supposed to be _together_ now, right? He should be allowed to touch Edward. True, he wasn't quite sure how a relationship such as theirs was supposed to develop, but he had the feeling that if he didn't push, Edward would just allow the whole business to die a natural death.

Which meant that everything was up to him.

Well, nothing for it but to take matters into his own hands.

Mustering everything he could remember about Edward's body, Alfons leaned forward and tapped him on his right shoulder.

Edward started, and twitched to the left, looking for someone that obviously wasn't there. Shrugging, he went back to his notes, and Alfons was greatly amused.

He waited a few more minutes, then tapped Edward on the shoulder again. Edward looked around again and turned towards Alfons in perplexity. Alfons pretended to be engrossed in his own papers, and managed to keep a smile off his face until his roommate gave up.

A few minutes later, and Alfons was tapping Edward's shoulder again. Lightning-fast, Edward reached up and snagged Alfons finger, and spent several confused moments trying to figure out which hand he had caught Alfons' finger with.

Finally he made the connection, and followed the finger up to Alfons' arm and finally his face. Edward scowled at Alfons' innocent look.

"That was a dirty trick," he snapped, and turned away pointedly.

Deliberately, Alfons rested his hand on Edward's shoulder, rubbing up and down gently. Edward jumped, and stared at him in perplexity.

"What is _with_ you?"

Alfons sighed. "Edward, could you please recalibrate your mind to accept the possibility of flirting? Otherwise this is going to get real old, real fast."

Edward gaped at him for a few minutes, then finally frowned. "That's wasn't flirting," he stated. "That was being annoying."

So Edward was going to get argumentative, was he? "That _was_ flirting. You're just being dense. Why else would I be touching you?"

Edward rolled his eyes. "You think I know why you do anything? You're just weird. I assumed you were touching me because you like being annoying."

Alfons was unsure whether to categorize this as typical Edward tactlessness, or outright hostility. "But-"

"And besides," Edward interrupted, "That _wasn't_ flirting. Flirting is supposed to have sexual overtones. Poking somebody on the fucking shoulder doesn't count."

"_I_ was doing it, and I say that I was flirting!"

"And I'm telling you that you're doing it wrong!"

"Arg!" Alfons tore at his hair. "You stupid thickheaded…. If _you're _so good at flirting, then let's see _you_ do it!" He sat back grumpily on his chair and crossed his arms, glowering at his idiotic roommate.

Taken aback, Edward stared at him for a moment, unsure, then crossed his arms as well. "You can't expect me to flirt with you when you're looking at me like that," he growled.

"Fine!" Alfons turned his head, staring at the wall with a glare that should have been able to peel the plaster. "See, I'm not looking at you."

"That's not an improvement," Edward muttered.

There was silence between them, as Alfons fumed with his gaze firmly fixed on the wall, and Edward tried to figure out what to do.

"_Well?_" he finally prodded. "I'm _waiting_."

"Shut up." Edward snapped back. "You're not being helpful here."

Because Edward, of course, was the epitome of helpfulness. "Not as easy as you thought, huh?" Alfons sneaked a glance out of the corner of his eye at Edward, who looked sort of pale.

"Bastard." Edward fidgeted. "Fine. Have it your way." Deliberately, he leaned forward and laid his right hand on Alfons' thigh, stroking gently.

Alfons glanced down at him, momentarily forgetting his annoyance in surprise that Edward was going through with it. Even more so, he found himself distracted by the touch, light though it was.

"See?" Edward said. "This has sexual overtones."

"You're just touching me. That doesn't count."

"Bastard, that's exactly what _you_ were doing before!" Edward gritted his teeth, his expression quite at odds with the gentleness of his fingers.

"There's more to flirting than just petting someone. If you did that to a girl you just met, you'd get smacked," Alfons complained, rather peeved by fact that he _liked_ the petting.

Huffing slightly in annoyance, Edward tried to arrange his features into an inviting expression. "Hey, Alfons, you look rather bored. Want me to…_amuse_ you?" he said.

It was a game effort, Alfons had to give him that. And there was the fact that Alfons would probably never have managed to say anything like that, with that _tone, God_— straight faced. Thus, he waited a full ten seconds before giving in to the laughter bubbling up.

"Holy Mother!" he panted, clutching his sides, tears gathering at the corners of his eyes. "That was…priceless…hee hee…"

A furious blush on his face, Edward retrieved his hand and firmly turned back to his books. "You suck," he growled.

"Oh, come on," Alfons made an honest effort to stifle his mirth, and grabbed at Edward's arm. "I didn't mean it that way. I thought you did a good job."

Edward just shook the arm off sullenly, and refused to look at Alfons.

"You promised to amuse me," Alfons wheedled, scooting his chair closer to Edward's so he could wrap both arms around his waist, and rest his chin on Edward's shoulder.

"Since you're better at it than I am," he tried really hard to keep any hint of sarcasm out of his voice, "Tell me, how's this?" Tilting his head slightly, he kissed Edward on the side of his neck, and delighted in the slight twitch he got in response. Eager to explore, he continued lower, emboldened when Edward didn't push him away. In fact, Edward was even tilting his head to the side, allowing easier access to his neck.

Edward's sigh vibrated under Alfons' mouth. "Screw flirting," Edward said, tugging Alfons away from his neck to where he could meet his eyes, the gold smoldering slightly. "Next time just do this. Wastes less time," and he leaned in to kiss Alfons firmly on the mouth.

"If I had done that, you would have probably griped about the fact that I didn't give you a warning," Alfons responded when they broke apart, and continued his exploration of Edward's face and neck with his mouth.

"I would not," Edward muttered sullenly, and leaned backwards slightly, pushing Alfons away. "Get off a second."

Reluctantly, Alfons complied, and watched curiously as Edward shifted around to face him.

An intense look on his face, Edward carefully reached up to stroke Alfons' cheek with his right hand, trailing his fingers down his nose and over his lips.

Odd, Alfons found himself thinking bemusedly, he would never have figured Edward to be so intent on… his _face,_ which looked so much like….

The mood was fleeing quickly, and Alfons tried to put the thought from his mind. Edward had promised that he regarded Alfons as a separate person from his brother, and Alfons would just have to trust him.

"You don't look so much like him…" Edward said softly.

Alfons jerked his head away, and frowned at Edward. "Don't talk about him when we're-" he began hotly, but lost the edge, and finished lamely, "...Doing things."

No answer was forthcoming, but the mood had effectively died for now.

* * *

Alfons, unwilling to give up completely, waited a while before his next attempt at intimacy. 

This time, though, he decided to try _talking_ first, to prevent a repeat of that morning's fiasco.

-

"Are you sure you want that?" Edward asked for what might have been the thousandth time.

"Yes," Alfons sighed. "I'm very, very sure." At first, he had thought he was going to die of fear when he finally screwed up his courage to ask. As time wore on, the fear turned to embarrassment and by now he was just resigned to never getting any.

Edward had yet to emerge from behind his small barricade of books, where he had retreated the first time Alfons had fielded his request. As if, Alfons mused, he was afraid that Alfons would attack him. This was most definitely _not_ Alfons' idea of an improvement over earlier.

Well, his one comfort was that Edward hadn't actually said _no_. And if the answer was positive, then Edward would definitely be getting around to it eventually.

Alfons hoped that 'eventually' would come before they both died of old age.

Several hours ago he had attempted to take the initiative, but Edward had retreated with such a look of terror on his face that Alfons had abandoned the attempt.

"The reason I'm asking," Edward suddenly said, "is because I'm not sure you're completely clear on what you're getting into."

"Look," Alfons said tiredly, "if you don't want to…"

"It's not that!" Edward protested, face slightly red. "It's just…"

Alfons didn't think he'd ever seen Edward quite so nervous.

"Have you ever _really_ looked at me?"

"I look at you all the time. I'm looking at you right now!"

"I mean," Edward mumbled, "without my clothes on."

"Oh." Alfons paused. Had he ever actually seen Edward undressed? The only time he could remember was during the whole embarrassing demon episode, and he had been rather too flustered at the time to actually take a good look.

"Come on," Edward got up, and tugged on Alfons sleeve.

Alfons could distinctly feel his mind shutting down, and his senses targeted elsewhere. Edward was leading him to his _room_, and there was talk of undressing involved. It felt rather like his hormones were doing a happy-dance somewhere at the pit of his stomach.

Edward pushed Alfons to sit on the bed, and went to make sure the shutters were closed before joining him.

"I know what you said before," Edward said seriously, looking at him straight in the eye, "but I'm giving you a chance to back out."

Back out? "I meant what I said," Alfons snapped, rather offended.

"Just look, okay?"

Unlike the last time Edward had started undressing in front of him, this time Edward's hand was shaking so badly he could hardly undo the buttons on his shirt.

"I want to do that," Alfons suddenly blurted, his eyes focused on Edward's fingers, then clapped a hand over his mouth. Damn, he shouldn't have burst out like a moron-

"Go ahead."

…._ What?_ Alfons stared in disbelief as Edward dropped his hand to his side. His heart started pounding furiously in his chest, and he replayed the last moment several times, sure he had imagined it.

Edward nodded slightly, and now there was a small smile on his face. As usual, he was amused by Alfons' discomfiture.

Hesitantly, Alfons reached over and started undoing the buttons. There was complete silence in the room, so that both of their labored breathing was painfully audible. The shirt was warm from contact with Edward's skin, and Alfons was hard pressed to keep his attention on the buttons when _Edward_ was right there, warm and real, and only bare millimeters away from his fingertips.

Edward's breath hitched, and for the first time Alfons was sure that Edward truly did want him, just as badly as he wanted Edward.

Finally, what seemed like hours later, he reached the end of the buttons, and carefully pulled Edward's shirt out of his pants. There was no way of preventing his fingers from brushing Edward's skin, and Alfons didn't even try, his fingers burning.

Alfons had never undressed anybody before, but he sincerely hoped this would only be the first time of many. Carefully, he pushed the shirt over Edward's shoulders, exposing his chest.

_Oh_.

His hands jerked back involuntarily, and he swallowed thickly. The scars. How had he managed to miss them before?

Edward's left shoulder was a mess of scar tissue, and there were puckered lines around metal bolts, which seemed to be embedded in his skin. There were more, smaller ones, down his sides, and in the center of his stomach was an enormous, ragged mark that vaguely reminded Alfons of an eye.

Fascinated, Alfons reached out to touch it, but Edward made a whimpering sound in his throat that caused Alfons to snatch his hand back quickly.

"So you see," Edward managed to keep his voice steady, "it's not exactly a pretty sight." His whole posture was belligerent, challenging Alfons to reject his maimed body.

Heart pounding in his ears, Alfons leaned forward and ran his tongue firmly up the large eye-shaped scar.

Immediately, every single muscle in Edward's stomach contracted visibly, and he yelped in surprise.

"What are you-?"

Damn the scars, Alfons thought to himself. Yes, they would take getting used to – he couldn't pretend they were pretty. But the scars weren't _Edward_.

Right now, the salty taste of Edward's skin was on his tongue, and he wanted _more_.

"Okay?" he asked, his voice coming out huskier than he had expected.

Edward looked down, and his face twisted. "I hate that one," he practically snarled. "The Gate _marked _me. I should have died when I gave up my body for Al – but the Gate healed me, and threw me here. It fucking marked me like an animal, so that I can't forget that it owns me."

Alfons wanted to cry; he didn't _want_ to have deep discussions now, he was hard as hell and he wanted Edward's mouth on him, or his hands, or hell, _any_ part of Edward would do nicely.

Except that Edward had all these _issues_, and Alfons tried to be sympathetic, but all he could wonder was, _my God, doesn't the man have hormones at _all

"-and you're not paying any attention to what I'm saying, are you?"

"Nnn?" Alfons managed in a strangled sort of voice, his arms tightly crossed over his lap, while he willed his poor, oxygen-deprived brain to catch up to what was happening.

Edward frowned at him, then looked pointedly downward, and Alfons could feel his face heating up with embarrassment.

"I guess it really doesn't matter," Edward suddenly mumbled, looking sheepish. "You really don't mind…"

Then Edward abruptly pulled both his legs onto the bed, and reached over to tug Alfons' hands out of his lap. Any opposition to this manhandling evaporated when Edward's hands found their way inside his pants, stroking firmly.

Alfons was very gratified to discover that Edward did, indeed, have hormones.


	7. Aggressive Tendencies

Agony went into writing this chapter. Hours of toiling over the computer, writing, rewriting, and then suddenly realizing that they were ooc, nixing, and redoing. I could never have done it without Marju, who read it and told me that at a certain point, they were being way to articulate. And then baka-deshi spent over four hours with me on chat, overanalyzing every last sentence.  
Finally, though, I bring you this, in hopes you will enjoy it.

* * *

Despite how often as he had dreamed of flight, when Alfons' dreams finally met with reality, he found the experience rather terrifying.  
One minute, there he was innocently sketching a perfectly good diagram of a flying machine, dreaming of the day when he could finally escape gravity. The next, he found his feet jerked out from under him and he was experiencing flight courtesy of one Edward Elric.

He would later deny forcefully that he had shrieked.

Landing on the bed knocked all the wind out of him, and it took his mind a few moments to re-orient. He was just starting to recover his breath, and had about come to the conclusion that he wasn't going to cough his lungs out, when Edward _pounced_.

He denied the second shriek as well. And the fact that Edward managed to pin his arms easily above his head had nothing to do with his abortive attempt at protecting his face.

"See, you _are_ a demon," Alfons wheezed, completely immobilized. "I give. Have your evil way with me."

Edward looked down on him from where he was perched on Alfons stomach, and Alfons must have been imagining the slightly disappointed air about him.

"You're not going to resist?"

…Fine, so he wasn't imagining it.

"Are you crazy?" Alfons asked. "And besides, why would I?"

"But," Edward's brows furrowed, "I mean…dammit, can't you at least _try_?"

Right. He had forgotten that in Edward's lexicon, violence equaled fun. Well, he supposed he could try, if it made Edward happy…

Several minutes of squirming later, Alfons was much embarrassed, and not an inch closer to either bucking Edward off or freeing his arms.

"I don't get it, you never wrestled when you were a kid?"

It was very humbling to see that Edward's hold on him seemed to be practically effortless.

"You're probably ten times stronger than me, what do you want?" Alfons protested defensively. Edward sighed, and let go of him, leaving Alfons uncomfortable. He had never felt so inadequate in his entire life.

"Sit up," Edward ordered, sliding off of him. "I'm going to show you some holds."

"But…I'm a _scientist_. Why do I need to know how to fight?" He didn't have much hope that the argument would work, but he had to try anyway.

Frowning, Edward crossed his arms and glowered at him. "Because you should. And not knowing how to use your size to your advantage is just pathetic."

Pathetic. Ow. So he didn't have a crazy violent childhood, it wasn't exactly his fault! The prospect of spending hours probably getting pounded on really did not appeal to him. But no matter what, he wouldn't bring up the one argument that was sure to get him off the hook – that the only reason Edward wanted to wrestle with him was because that's what he was used to doing with his brother. He had promised himself to leave Alphonse Elric out of it.

And anyway, lately Edward had been opening up, and showing a more playful side, and if Edward really wanted pre-sex wrestling matches…well, Alfons would be damned if he couldn't keep up.

"Fine," he groaned, and hoped he wouldn't regret it. Edward immediately brightened, and started showing him how to get his arms free from somebody's grip.

* * *

"My wrists are bruised," he griped later, inspecting the purple marks. "People are going to wonder, you know! Couldn't you be a little more careful?" 

Edward didn't seem to understand the importance of not acting in a way that would arouse suspicion, and brushed it off.

"Just tell them the truth."

"That we're fucking?!"

"No, that I'm giving you self-defense lessons," Edward snapped irritably.

"As if they would believe that," Alfons snorted. At Edward's curious look, he opened his mouth to explain, but stopped. How was he supposed to say that the others viewed Edward as a clumsy, slightly crazy sort of genius? To the best of his knowledge, none of their coworkers knew about Edward's prosthetics, and sometimes poked fun behind his back at his apparent lack of coordination. And the fact that Edward often mixed up right and left only made things worse.

Though they admitted that nobody could do calculations as quickly or as well as Edward could, Edward was still viewed as the stereotyped cracked genius.

"No, I don't suppose they would," Edward said quietly. Startled, Alfons glanced at him, and Edward met his eyes. "Did you honestly think I don't notice how they talk about me?"

Alfons flushed; frankly, that was rather what he had thought. Edward normally seemed so oblivious to what was happening around him, he figured Edward didn't know about that, either.

"It's not exactly like you're doing a great job trying to defend yourself," Alfons muttered defensively.

Angry, Edward glared at him. "I can't exactly explain myself to them, can I? And I can't allow myself to forget I'm from somewhere else, even for a moment. I have to keep my distance."

"Why?" It made no sense, this non-intervention policy of Edward's. "If you'd only open up a little more, you'd probably be happier."

"If I relax, I'll probably never make it home," Edward said coldly. "And anyway, it's not exactly like I have an enthusiastic advocate. You could open your mouth once in a while as well."

Alfons started to retort, but found himself unable to speak. It was true, he never did say anything; they were his friends, and he'd known most of them for longer than he had known Edward. "As far as they're concerned," he finally managed, "there's no reason for us to have any special connection. I don't want to get anybody suspicious of us."

"You mean, you don't want to be associated with a freak!"

"I _am_ associated with you!" Alfons shouted. "I'm _living _with you! Anyway, you think I don't notice the looks of pity I get every time you're drunk and I have to drag you home? Or the way they shake their heads over your stories, and later ask me if you're always 'like that'?"

Shaking, Edward shouted back, "If I'm such a burden, why the fuck did you ever ask me to live with you?"

"You were practically living on the streets! What else was I supposed to do?"

"So this is some sort of pity kick for you? Taking care of the homeless lunatics?"

"I don't think you're crazy! You proved it to me, didn't you? But the rest of the world out there doesn't know that! To them, yes! You _are_ crazy!"

"Is that why you wanted to fuck me?" Edward demanded. "Is it some sort of payment for putting up with me?"

_How could Edward possibly think that?! _"I want you because you're interesting and brilliant and damn good looking. But you're not exactly the easiest person to get along with. And _nobody understands you_. Get that through your thick head, because the way things are going, it's going to continue that way. Decide that you don't care what the world thinks, but don't kid yourself that they're not judging you!" Edward couldn't have it both ways. He couldn't keep up his 'from another world' act, and at the same time be socially acceptable. And yes, it was a strain being close with someone the rest of the world regarded as more than half insane.

Sometimes, like now, he wondered why he was willing to go through so much for him.

And now, Edward was back to being vulnerable, the strain evident on his features. "I don't want to hurt you, Alfons. I told you this wasn't a good idea, being together."

"You're not hurting me," Alfons snapped. "So far, I think the only one you're hurting is yourself."

Edward was shaking again, and looked more than a little unhinged, staring off into the distance. "I can leave," he said unsteadily. "It's not like it matters. I don't belong in this world. Maybe it's a dream. Maybe if I die again, I'll wake up, like last time."

It wasn't Edward's stories that scared him, anymore. It was when Edward started talking like _this_ that he began to worry. When Edward's composure cracked, Alfons was reminded that behind his normally dull mask of depression and forced smiles, there was someone who was desperately afraid of being alone and forgotten. He couldn't even imagine the sort of strain Edward must be under, all the time, in his attempts to do the impossible, and this was one of those times when all the strain boiled to the surface.

It was completely unfair that when he was like this, Edward pulled at every single one of Alfons' heartstrings.

"Edward." He wrapped his arms around Edward's stiff body, and hugged him close. "It's not a dream. But this isn't Hell either. You're going to make it home. And if you die, I'll be very lonely, so please don't do that."

"Bull," Edward mumbled unhappily into Alfons shoulder. "It'll probably be better if I just vanish."

Alfons ignored the twinge in his stomach that the thought of Edward vanishing caused, and tried to speak lightly. "If you vanish, you know that I'll just have to spend all night running around and looking for you. And then I'd probably catch pneumonia. You don't want that, do you?"

Edward shook his head, but didn't answer verbally.

"And," Alfons continued softly, guilt welling up, "I'm sorry I never defended you. I'll try to be better about it."

"You don't-"

"I want to." Some gut feeling told him that Edward, if the positions were reversed, would have defended him loudly, belligerently, and possibly thrown a few punches.

Edward made a suspicious choking sound, and clung to him, allowing Alfons to pet him gently.

"Now, can we move on to the make-up sex?" Alfons asked. "I'll even try to resist, if that's what will make you happy. Or, if you want to bruise my wrists some more, that's okay too."

"F-fine."

Alfons hoped that the quaver was because Edward was trying not to laugh.

"But…" Edward began again, and Alfons wanted to sigh. Nothing was ever that simple. "Why do…I mean, I know what you said, but I don't understand why you would want…you don't _owe_ me anything!" Edward finally burst out, looking genuinely distressed.

Alfons frowned, trying to understand, but all he could think of was, incongruously, the fact that his legs were starting to hurt. "Come here," he tugged Edward down on the ratty old sofa, shoving books out of the way. They sat facing each other, Edward fidgeting slightly, and Alfons debated whether holding his hand would be unforgivably sappy or not. Regretfully, he decided that it would be, and comforted himself with the thought of sex, which would hopefully be soon.

"Now, what am I supposed to owe you? We're friends, aren't we? Can't I want to stick up for you?" He felt a moment of panic. Alfons decided then that he really, really didn't want to ever know what the inside of Edward's mind was like. It must be a terrifyingly twisted place, for him to come up with these sorts of thoughts.

"Yes, but-"

Alfons pulse returned to normal.

"But I'm such a fuckup…and you're so.…It's not equivalent!" Edward snapped his mouth shut, his teeth clenched tightly, and his eyes searched Alfons' for some sort of answer that Alfons wasn't sure he could give.

"It doesn't have to be," Alfons tried. "Friendship isn't about equivalence…wasn't it like that with your other friends?"

"I dunno," Edward said sullenly.

Starting to worry, Alfons pressed, "You _did_ have friends, didn't you?"

Edward gulped slightly, looking worried, but said defensively, "Uh, yeah, 'course. Like the soldiers I worked with. And Winry, my mechanic, I've known her for years. But I annoyed them, too."

Mouth working soundlessly, Alfons just stared in horror. It couldn't be… he would have to be a complete moron not to have noticed that Edward defined everyone by their working relationship. He hated to bring it up, but – "What about your brother?"

"Al would never leave me," Edward said confidently. "He's my _brother._" As if that explained everything. "But you're not."

"I'm your _lover_," Alfons burst out indignantly. "Don't you think that counts for as much?"

He hated the look on Edward's face with a passion. Why was Edward _surprised_? Why didn't Edward feel that way about _him_?

"Do you _want_ me to leave you?" Alfons finally asked. He hated to ask such a loaded question, he wasn't even sure if he wanted to know the answer-

But Edward shook his head vehemently, and Alfons managed to push the frantic, blubbering part of himself aside once again. Edward wanted him to stay. That was something.

"But we're always yelling at each other," Edward said hesitantly. "Aren't you sick of…it?"

Alfons would have bet his entire savings that Edward had been about to say 'me', and felt an odd sinking feeling. He had never pitied Edward before; there had never been a reason to, despite all the difficulties in the man's life.

Only now he was realizing what a stunted childhood Edward had had, and he honestly didn't know what to do. What a _mess_.

Effectively, Alfons thought, this was the first time in Edward's adult life that he was actively trying to make a friend. And now, he finally understood why their relationship was so rocky: Edward was simply utterly clueless when it came to interpersonal relationships, though it was painfully obvious he was _trying_.

Edward _wanted_ it to work.

"Just like you trusted your brother not to leave you, you need to trust me," Alfons said firmly. Suddenly he didn't care that he was comparing himself to Alphonse Elric. Alphonse might have been the only person in the world that Edward felt he owed something to, and Alfons wanted that for himself.

Edward leaned forward slightly, searching his face intently, and Alfons realized that he didn't know what their relationship could be called, but it could certainly never be casual.

Everything with Edward was all or nothing, and Alfons knew, now, that by comparing them to the relationship Edward had with his brother, he had pushed them both down a slippery slope, which might just lead to the kind of fairy-tale love that ended with a 'happily ever after', or a whole lot of tragedy.

For a moment, he nearly panicked, unsure – was he ready for that sort of all-encompassing connection with Edward? Would he survive it?

Before the worry could find some way to be articulated, he was distracted by Edward's lips on his. He was pushed down on the sofa, and only belatedly remembered to put up a struggle. Edward grinned at him, and he was fairly sure that he had only managed to get his right hand free because Edward had let him. He flailed around with it for less than a minute, before it was recaptured, and he happily gave himself over to Edward's ministrations.

And, some dim part of his mind thought, if a little resistance made Edward _this_ enthusiastic, he would definitely have to do it more often.

* * *

Hours later, they had finally calmed down enough to crawl into bed. Alfons was just ready to doze off, when Edward's whisper dragged him back to wakefulness. 

"Alfons?"

"…Yeah?" Alfons had learned already that sharing a bed with Edward meant that his nights wouldn't be particularly restful. Even when they finally decided to go to sleep, Edward was by no means a quiet sleeper. On a good night, Alfons would only wake up with bruises from being kicked. On a bad one, he would have to rouse Edward from nightmares multiple times.

"Would you mind….don't laugh," Edward cautioned.

"I won't. Would I mind what?" Alfons' curiosity chased away some of his tiredness. Edward's late-night talks were usually worth waking up for.

"Could you try sleeping on top of me?"

Well, that wasn't quite what Alfons had expected (usually Edward wanted to discuss weird theories…), but it was just as strange. He pushed himself up on his elbow to regard Edward curiously. "On _top _of you?"

"Well, yeah." The embarrassment was practically audible.

It wouldn't hurt to try, Alfons supposed. He had quickly realized that with Edward it was better to do first and ask questions later. Otherwise Edward would immediately decide that Alfons really didn't want to do it, and then it would usually take Alfons the better part of an hour to convince him that he had only been _curious_.

"Move over a little," Alfons suggested. Edward complied, and after several minutes of squirming (and a few muttered curses from Edward), Alfons was lying on his stomach, propped up on his elbows, squarely on top of Edward.

Edward quirked a smile at him. "You'll never be able to sleep like that. Put your head down."

With some trepidation, Alfons scooted down until he could lay his head gingerly on Edward's chest. "I'm afraid of…squishing you," he explained.

He could feel Edward's snort. "Are you implying I'm small?"

"No," Alfons said quickly, "I'm implying I'm heavier than you."

"Oh."

Silence stretched for a few moments, and Alfons shifted down slightly, making sure that Edward could still breathe, and lay his head on the right side of Edward's chest. If he was already lying like this, he might as well listen to his heartbeat.

Edward's right hand came up to rub the back of his neck. He tried not to eye the prosthetic's buckle warily, convincing himself that there was absolutely no chance of being poked in the eye by the thing.

It was _different_, but not exactly uncomfortable, except for one slight problem.

"Edward… my feet are hanging over the edge of the bed," Alfons whispered.

"Oh," Edward said weakly.

"Maybe we can try it a different way? I'm sure this will get heavy for you after a while," Alfons suggested carefully.

"I kind of like it," was Edward's answering mumble, and Alfons wasn't sure whether to be flattered or not. Somehow, Edward's 'compliments' tended to come out strange. Like the time he had called Alfons' hair 'fluffy'.

"Look," Alfons said and crawled back up, draping himself over Edward's side, with his head still resting against Edward's chest. "How's this?"

Edward shifted a little, then wrapped his right arm around Alfons, and sighed. "Maybe I'll kick you less, this way."

Alfons jerked his head up in surprise, only to have Edward push it firmly down again. He hadn't thought that Edward knew about that.

"It's not that bad…" he protested. The _last _thing he needed was for Edward to suddenly get on his case about the bruises. Sex with the prosthetics was slightly abrasive; there was nothing they could do about it, and Alfons was willing to put up with it, since Edward _hated_ having them off. He shuddered at the thought of Edward deciding they needed to abstain, just to spare a few scrapes.

"Also," Edward continued quietly, "if you're here…" He hugged Alfons tightly. "Even if I wake up in the middle of the night, I'll always remember where I am."

* * *

Feedback would be appreciated like you have no idea... 


	8. Morning After

**Warnings for this chapter**: dealing with some subjects that are not necessarily always the most comfortable to deal with. Please take it within its historical context, and remember that it's just a plot device.  
I don't think I'm going to warn about things like language and/or perviness anymore, since I already made my statement about the ratings, right? Suffice to say, it will get no worse than it is, but I'll still put up warnings for other stuff that might show up.  
That said, I'd like to thank everyone for their ongoing support! You guys keep me writing (see, that's why I'm spending the university strike in my dorm room writing fanfiction, instead of out partying).

* * *

**Morning After**

The first moment when Alfons woke up every morning was a happy one. He usually came to a gradual state of wakefulness, pleasant feelings washing through his body. He awoke to the warmth of Edward against him, his hair a golden spill across the pillow, his breath puffing gently against Alfons' neck. At that time, a fondness would spread through him, and he enjoyed the few rare moments of watching Edward sleep calmly, his face relaxed and unmarred by worry, looking deceptively young and innocent.

The second moment, the reality of his life would crash down on him. He would try take a deep breath to sigh, and feel the familiar twinge in his chest, preventing it. The warmth from Edward only served as a reminder that they were both naked, and that Alfons was indulging in perversions. And the twinge in his heart when he thought that only made him feel worse, because he couldn't bring himself to _stop_, and didn't want to.

Alfons sat up, scrubbing at his eyes tiredly, the good mood evaporating. One might think that this was a strange time to indulge in these sort of thoughts, but it was the only time when Alfons felt he had the freedom, and silence, to think about it. It was the only time when, _because_ of the silence, there was nothing to distract him and keep the thoughts away.

The irony of contemplating the fate of his soul while lying in bed with another man was not lost on him, but he figured it didn't make a difference in the long run. At least now he had stopped rationalizing that jerking off and sucking 'didn't count', and could face the fact that he was engaging in sodomy, and enjoying it.

He glanced over at Edward, who was still sleeping the peaceful sleep of the Godless. Edward, sinfully beautiful thing that he was, honestly _didn't care_, and that bothered Alfons possibly more than anything.

"Alfons…?" Edward yawned, cracking open his golden eyes, and reaching out with one hand to find him.

"Here," Alfons caressed his shoulder, unable to resist, as always, though he couldn't keep a slightly bitter smile off his face.

"Mmm." His lover smiled in satisfaction, and stretched luxuriantly, drawing Alfons' eyes to the way the muscles of his chest and abdomen rippled. Finally Edward sat up, and cast Alfons a curious, if slightly sleepy, look. "What's wrong?"

"You know," Alfons finally blurted, "What we're doing is wrong. It's bad." He didn't care if Edward mocked him, he had to get it off his chest.

Edward's ability to have complicated conversations at the drop of a hat never ceased to amaze Alfons. Not missing a beat, Edward immediately responded, "Says who?" True, the effect was slightly ruined by the fact that Edward was still rubbing sleep from his eyes, but still.

"Everybody. Society."

"Fuck society," Edward responded. "Just keep it hidden. Next problem."

"Well, says God." That was really the crux of the issue.

"You believe in God?"

Alfons shot a sharp look at Edward, not missing the slight tone of derision in his voice. Nonetheless, the question was a valid one, and Alfons found himself silent. He had tried being an atheist, but somehow had never quite succeeded; apparently his poor mother had done a better job raising him than it seemed. Overall, he had settled for hoping that if he didn't pay too much attention to God, God would extend the same courtesy to him. With any luck, God had much better things to do with his time than bother with Alfons.

"I guess I do," Alfons said, firmly keeping any tone of apology out of his voice. Edward jerked around to stare at him, surprised and slightly uncertain.

"Oh," he said weakly, and frowned, scratching at his hair in a slightly puzzled way. Alfons prepared himself for ridicule, but it never came. Edward just shot him an almost worried look, and finally asked, "So…it's a sin?"

Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his bent knees, Alfons played with the blanket idly, a rather morose air about him. "Yeah," he said glumly. If the priests were to be believed, he had thrown away his chance at any sort of heaven, for Edward.

Abruptly, he wondered what Edward would say if he told him that.

"Well," Edward said, "If it's a sin, then you should expect to pay for it. In my experience, sins usually come back later to bite you in the ass. It's not fun."

Eyes wide, Alfons stared at Edward in astonishment. "But…" That wasn't the answer Edward was supposed to give! He was supposed to laugh it off, and tell him he was being a gullible moron, or something. And then Alfons was supposed to get pissed off, and –

"You've just got to decide whether or not you want to risk it." Edward was staring off into the distance, his tone soft. "Sometimes you figure the payoff will be worth it. And sometimes you end up wondering if it was."

Alfons opened his mouth, reconsidered, and closed it again. "I suppose I might go to Hell," he finally said.

"Just for this?" Edward sounded perplexed. "But you're a good person."

A small rush of pleasure penetrated his gloom at Edward's words, from the part of him that was always pathetically happy and preened whenever Edward noticed him in any sort of positive way. The rest of his mind focused on the words themselves.

Was it possible to be a good person, who did one bad thing, consistently? Did that even still _count_ as being good?

And it wasn't as if this was _really_ bad. It was definitely better than things like murder or theft, which actively harmed another person.

Maybe God would understand, Alfons suddenly thought wildly, gazing at Edward. Maybe this could be his big sin, and maybe someday he'd pay for it, but it didn't mean he was _all_ bad. Maybe, in some strange way, God could sympathize with the fact that he was just a pathetic mortal, who really had no defense at all against someone like Edward.

"Either way," Edward said, yawning again, "You gotta stop stressing about it all the time. If you don't stop worrying about things you can't change, you'll go batshit."

"You're a fine one to talk, Mr Pot!" Alfons scolded indignantly. Edward just shot him an unrepentant grin, and took himself off to wash his face.

Hypocrisy aside, though, there was truth to that. Coming to a decision, Alfons strolled over to the bathroom and wrapped his arms around Edward from behind, kissing the nape of his neck, which was now bared by his ponytail.

He could do this, Alfons decided. He could be at peace with himself for now, and accept that someday there might be consequences, and that he would deal with them when they showed up.

"Sex fiend," Edward muttered, trying to lean away from Alfons' mouth. "You always go for the neck."

Alfons just hummed agreement. Of course he went for the neck. Edward's neck was delightfully sensitive, not to mention ticklish, and if he did it right, he could actually make Edward giggle.

Ah, there it was, the breathy little sound that Alfons loved, and Edward somehow always failed to choke down. Nibbling his way up Edward's jaw, Alfons suddenly paused in surprise, rubbing his cheek against Edward's, which was rough with stubble.

"You didn't shave?" he asked in surprise. Not that it mattered so much, the hair was so light to be practically invisible anyway, but he had never gotten the impression that Edward wanted to try for a beard.

Ducking away from him, Edward scuffed one hand along his jaw in embarrassment. "Well…I…we were low on funds this month, and…" Edward looked up anxiously, "I hoped it wouldn't bother you."

Alfons tried to make sense of the two sentences, and failed. "What? What does money have anything to do with it?"

Edward shifted his feet uncomfortably. "I go to a barber," he explained.

"Why?" Alfons wondered in bewilderment. It was uncharacteristic in the extreme for Edward to waste money on something so frivolous, especially when they owned a perfectly good razor.

"Because I can't shave myself, okay?" Edward finally snapped, turning away and slamming his hands down on either side of the sink. "My right hand is a prosthetic, and I wouldn't want to try with my left hand, especially when half the time I don't know which fucking hand is which, and I'd probably take my fucking head off," he said bitterly.

Alfons wanted to kick himself for never considering that, and kick Edward for never saying anything. "So why didn't you ask _me_, you idiot?"

Edward looked up slowly, meeting Alfons' eyes in the mirror. "I didn't want to be any more trouble," he said uncertainly.

"I hardly see where spending money on something completely unnecessary is an improv—" Alfons cut himself off, biting his lip, for Edward had flinched, and was now looking guiltily at the floor, an image of dejection.

Really, he admonished himself, he _knew_ how much Edward hated being dependent on others.

"I can just grow a beard," Edward said tiredly. "It's not that big a deal…"

The expression on his face made it obvious that it was, in fact, a big deal.

"No, you're not, because I'm going to shave you."

"I don't want you to."

"Stubborn ass." Alfons pushed Edward to sit on the small stool in the bathroom. "Tell your stupid ego that I'm doing this because I don't like beards."

Against Edward's protestations he lathered him up, 'accidentally' getting some in his mouth, which made Edward sputter in protest.

"Serves you right."

"You're such a —"

"Ssh," Alfons brandished the shaving knife. "I don't want to cut you." That shut Edward up, and he just sat fuming quietly, his eyes shooting sparks at Alfons.

Alfons tried not to show how nervous he was; he had never shaved anybody else before. But really, it was quite like shaving himself, only with the dubious added benefit of Edward expressions.

When he was finished, he handed Edward a towel to wipe off his face, and surveyed his handiwork. Edward looked in the mirror, running his right hand over his now-smooth jaw.

"Well?" Alfons inquired.

"…Thanks," Edward said, only slightly grudgingly, and turned to leave, to give Alfons time to get ready to leave the house.

"Hey," Alfons snagged his sleeve on the way out, "It's not trouble for me." He met Edward's eyes, holding them, until Edward conceded, nodding slightly.

The truth was, Alfons thought, watching Edward's retreating back for a moment, it _was_ trouble. _Edward_ was trouble, but he was worth it, stupid, stubborn, brilliant monster that he was.

A smile stole its way onto his face, and Alfons reveled in sheer relieved freedom. He felt as if a great load had come off his mind, and he wondered if Edward even knew how much that meant to him.

* * *

It was an odd coincidence that the day that Alfons finally decided to "stop stressing", as Edward put it, was a Sunday. Edward liked to get up early, despite the fact that there was nowhere to be (as he obviously didn't attend Church), and spend the morning at the library.

Alfons saw Edward out of the house, and then lazed about, lying in bed and reading up on things he didn't get around to during the week.

When his stomach was making too many noises for comfort, Alfons got up to fix himself some breakfast –ah, the luxury of eating breakfast at ten o'clock! – and dawdled over a coffee and a book. With Edward out, he felt absolutely no compunctions about drinking around the books. Honestly, he wasn't a child, he would hardly _spill_ it.

When he decided he'd spent long enough, he went downstairs to say hello to Gracia, and ended up hanging around the flower shop and chatting for longer than he had expected. It was a pity that Edward couldn't stand being around her for long, because she was a wonderful woman.

He was often reminded of his mother.

Gracia seemed to accept Edward's detachment with Alfons' excuse that the man was terribly shy. There really was no way to explain that looking at her made Edward homesick.

The morning was going by, and Alfons pried himself away to go on his weekly walk through the park. A normal week was far too hectic to find time for things like just _walking_ (and yes, drinking with the boys was important!), but he promised himself to find time every week to spend a few hours with himself, just wandering around.

He had grown up in a smallish town, and the park reminded him of home, a little, and of his cousins' house on the outskirts.

* * *

Alfons returned sometime in the afternoon, to find Edward already home. On Sunday afternoons Edward liked to curl up for light reading. Of course, his notion of 'light reading' didn't exactly mesh with the rest of the world's, but he always took a break from rocketry.

Honestly, the man was addicted to books. It was as if Edward just didn't know what to do with himself when presented with free time and no book.

The main sign that he was taking time off was where he was sitting. When Edward studied seriously, he would sit by the table or on a sofa, surrounded by books and papers. On Sunday afternoons, however, he sat in bed, leaning against the wall with a pillow propped behind his back, and a book resting on his bent knees.

Today he was curled up with a thick tome on the Indian caste system, which Alfons couldn't, for the life of him, bring himself to care about. Edward's hair was in a messy ponytail at the nape of his neck, and to Alfons he looked completely molestable.

And why not? If Edward could jump him any time he felt like it, what should stop him from doing the same to Edward?

The thought almost startled Alfons, and he examined it carefully, a grin making its way onto his face. He hadn't even felt the presence of the inhibitions until now, when he realized they were gone.

A smile worked its way onto his face, and Alfons found himself licking his lips in anticipation.

Edward looked up in protest when Alfons stole his book. "Hey!" He made a grab for it, but Alfons tugged it out of his reach.

Pushing Edward's knees apart, he crawled on top of him and kissed him firmly. After a moment of struggle, Edward gave up and kissed him back, his right hand fisting in Alfons' hair. Alfons was pleased when, after the initial moment of surprise, Edward didn't utilize his physical advantage, but allowed Alfons to take the lead.

"So? Do you forgive me for taking your book?" Alfons teased. Edward smirked at him challengingly.

"Only if you think you can provide better entertainment."

At that, Alfons attacked the side of Edward's neck, delighting in his laughter, and the squirming was just a bonus.

In truth, there had been some part of him that had worried that Edward would make a big fuss about something like this, but now he wondered if maybe Edward hadn't just been waiting for him to take initiative.

Something tickled at the back of Alfons' mind, though…something about the hand still pressed to the inside of Edward's knee.

Ignoring Edward's whine, he pulled back to inspect Edward's knees. It suddenly occurred to Alfons that the strange part was that, despite how far apart he was pushing them, he felt almost no resistance.

Experimentally, he pushed further, so Edward's legs were spread at an angle that made him want to flinch, but he still felt almost no protest from the muscle.

Alfons looked up excitedly. "Wow, Edward, look! You're…" he trailed off at the quizzical look on Edward's face. Stupid. Of _course_ Edward knew how his body moved!

"Are you having fun?" Edward asked dryly, watching Alfons play 'let's see how far apart Edward's legs can go'.

"I…I…" Alfons flushed scarlet. Damn. What was he supposed to _say_? Flustered, he tried to explain. "It's just…you're so _flexible_! I mean, I've only ever heard of contortionists able to do stuff like that…" He was doomed. The only question was how many years it would take until Edward let him live this one down.

And, just as he had expected, Edward dissolved into laughter. He supposed it was nice that he was capable of making Edward laugh, but somehow he didn't appreciate it much right now.

"You think _that's _impressive?" Edward scoffed. "Check this out." And he proceeded to grab his ankle and hook his left leg behind his head in a way that legs most certainly were _not_ meant to bend.

Alfons' thoughts must have been showing on his face, because Edward chuckled again and allowed his foot to go back to its normal position.

"So you don't mind…?" Alfons lay his hand tentatively on the inside of Edward's thigh, pushing outwards.

"Knock yourself out," Edward said indulgently, and tugged Alfons closer to kiss his collarbone. Well, if Edward didn't mind…Already Alfons mind was filling with tantalizing possibilities, of what exactly could be done with a body that was _that_ flexible.


	9. Inkspots

Ah, we're getting there! Character development is rolling - surprises may come soon XD. Thanks to everyone who reveiwed last chapter - I was really glad to hear that the subject matter worked out.  
Warnings for this chapter: mildly..._interesting_ bits. Also, another one dealing with Issues. Yay for Issues. Sorry this chapter's a bit shorter than the previous ones; the next ones should be longer.  
I also want to give a thanks to those of you faving/story alerting. I'm glad you guys seem to be enjoying it, too.

**

* * *

****Inkspots**

The rustle of paper made Alfons jump, and he cursed his nervousness. After all, it was all Edward's fault that he could no longer sit quietly and enjoy checking over his calculations in the privacy of his own home. Well, maybe it was also his fault as well, for encouraging the insane blonde's actions.

Nothing would happen, Alfons told himself firmly. After all, if he could still hear paper rustling, it meant that Edward was still reading, which meant he was still on the other side of the room, and nowhere near Alfons.

The problem was that now that he had started thinking of the possibility, he was starting to be more and more convinced that it might not be such a bad thing. After all, he could use a break right about now.

And Edward could do the most amazing things with his hands…and his _mouth_…

Resisting the urge to slap himself or do something equally silly, Alfons forced his mind back to the task at hand.

Lord, it was ridiculously unfair that Edward was capable of doing this to him. His senses were tingling, he was so sure that any moment Edward would pounce, and he could feel the sweat running down the back of his neck.

Alfons twitched at the creak of the sofa, but it was a false alarm. His hand ached a bit from how tightly it was clenched around the pen.

If only Edward would get _on_ with it, so both of them could get it out of their systems!

It wasn't that he minded, exactly, Edward's tendency to sneak up behind him and pin him facedown on the nearest horizontal surface. After all, it was hard to mind when Edward was capable of making him _melt_ with only a few touches, even if he had gotten a crick in his shoulder once from having his arm twisted behind his back.

But the whole situation could be rather uncomfortable, such as when he found himself with ink all over his face, and had everybody poking fun at him for supposedly falling asleep over his work.

And it was a _bloody nuisance_ when he couldn't think straight, because he was so paranoid about being jumped! Damn Edward and his silly games, anyway.

Well, the formula wouldn't solve itself. He would just sit here quietly and work, and not worry about Edward at all. He most definitely would not be straining his ears for the telltale sound of Edward's uneven footsteps sneaking up on him.

Wait… Alfons stiffened, though he refused to move his eyes from the paper in front of him. There was a soft rustling of clothes, and damn, Edward was moving _towards_ him. He tried to suppress the thought, and was most definitely _not_ licking his lips in anticipation. He was _annoyed_, dammit, because he was trying to work, and any minute now Edward would grab him, running strong hands down his back –

Humming slightly, Edward walked _right past him_, and filled himself a glass of water from the faucet. Alfons had never felt so cheated in his life.

Edward turned to look at him, probably registering the death glare that Alfons was sending at him, and tilted his head curiously.

"Alfons, is everything all right? You look tense." The man even had the nerve to look innocently curious!

Alfons resisted the urge to glower, and found himself thinking wildly that Edward was right there, if Edward wasn't going to jump him he could always attack Edward, the end result was the same, right?

By no means as dense as he usually seemed, Edward looked slightly nervous. "Did I do something?"

No, it's what you _didn't_ do, Alfons wanted to say, but didn't quite have the courage. It appeared that even Edward's subconscious was ridiculously contrary. When Alfons was trying to work, chances were high that Edward would make a nuisance of himself, but when Alfons actually _wanted_ a distraction, Edward was oblivious.

And he may be living with Edward and doing all sorts of things that most people would consider immoral with him, but he definitely wasn't going to give in and _ask_ to be jumped. That would just be mortifying beyond belief.

He felt a rather vindictive sense of satisfaction over the fact that his silence was unnerving Edward, who was finally clueing in that there was something he should be doing, and wasn't.

Trepidation made Edward shuffle slightly in place, biting his lip in adorable confusion.

"Alfons?" he said weakly, starting to look worried.

Great. Being nervous and worried, any hope of Edward jumping him in the near future could be forgotten. He might be able to initiate something later, but for now it looked like he had blown his chance.

"Nothing," Alfons sighed in disappointment. Fine, so it was stupid of him to get all worked up because Edward hadn't read his mind, but it didn't change the fact that now he was going to have to go lock himself in the bathroom for a while.

"I wasn't going to bother you," Edward said hesitantly, a hint of defensiveness in his voice. "You always complain that I do."

He must have stared at Edward for five minutes, mouth working soundlessly and mind a complete blank, before he managed, "You utter _moron_!" _Why_ did Edward always pick the worst times to pick up on subtleties? "You're the one who complains if I don't make a fuss!"

"But…" Honest worry was written on Edward's face, and Alfons would have found it touching if he wasn't so annoyed right now. "I don't want to hurt you!"

…Oh. Now Alfons ran a litany of curses through his mind, mostly learned from Edward. Stupid, stupid, he should never have said anything, never have pointed out half-jokingly that Edward had better be careful, because when he pinned Alfons down, Alfons had no chance in hell of ever getting free even if he wanted to. He should never have told Edward that it made him a bit nervous.

And now Edward was feeling _guilty_, a horrible tormented look in his eyes.

Time for damage control, because the thought of Edward never sneaking up on him again was rather depressing. "Edward, I know you wouldn't hurt me."

Edward nodded earnestly, suddenly wondered if he wasn't sending the wrong message, and shook his head quickly. Alfons tried to suppress a smile, and continued.

"Look, every time I tell you to let go, you let go. So what do I have to worry about?"

A hopeful smile was making its way onto Edward's features, and he took a few small steps toward Alfons. _Come on_, Alfons thought, trying to hide his excitement. Maybe the afternoon wouldn't be a total waste.

"So you really don't mind?" Edward asked hesitantly, searching Alfons' face.

"No, I…" the German could feel his ears heating up in embarrassment, but managed to whisper, "I like it."

Edward was watching him intently, and at those words, a smug smile appeared on his face. Just the smile was enough to get Alfons' heart racing, and then Edward finally reached for him, tangling one hand in his hair and tilting his head back.

And yes, that was what he wanted, Edward nibbling and sucking on his exposed throat, while running his other hand confidently down Alfons' chest, leaving a tingling trail in its wake.

* * *

"How do you do it?" Alfons managed, slumped on his chair, pleasant waves of lethargy sweeping through his body. Edward sat on the floor next to him with his head on Alfons' thigh in a clear request to play with his hair. Alfons wasn't nearly as excited about hair as Edward seemed to be, but since Edward liked it, he obliged.

"Do what?" Edward wondered lazily.

"The stuff with your hands." If Edward's slight grin was anything to go by, there was no need to elaborate. No matter how quick he was at learning, Alfons never quite managed to get the same reactions out of Edward that Edward got out of him.

True, it was partially because he had found that the more aroused Edward got the quieter he was. He knew that the greatest intensity of feeling was signified by Edward's silent panting, as opposed to vocalized moans.

"I know a lot about human anatomy," Edward answered.

Alfons paused in stroking Edward's hair, surprised. "But I thought you were an alchemist," he protested. "That makes no sense! How could you know alchemy _and_ anatomy?" It wasn't fair! Most people could only hope to be proficient in one of the exact sciences in their lifetime, and Edward was only eighteen and was good at _two_ of them?

"You're forgetting chemistry, physics, and engineering," was Edward self-satisfied addendum.

Alfons threw his hands up. "I give up. That makes no sense at all."

In an imperative motion Edward rubbed his face in Alfons' thigh, and refused to answer until Alfons obediently kept up his petting. "My alchemy specialized in matter. Obviously, in order to transmute matter, I had to know about its construction – hence, chemistry. In order to transmute physical objects, I had to know how they were constructed. That means engineering and…" Edward abruptly trailed off, a stricken look on his face. It took Alfons a moment to realize what was bothering him, but then he understood: Edward had referred to his alchemy in the past tense.

To keep Edward's mind off of it, he quickly pursued the subject. "So why anatomy?"

Thankfully, Edward allowed himself to be distracted. "To know how to build Al's body. It was the only way I could think of to bring him back. That's why I ended up here."

Mind reeling, Alfons hardly internalized the end of the sentence, too caught up in the first part. "You…you knew enough about anatomy to be able to mentally construct an_ entire human body_?" It wasn't possible, it was barely human! How could anybody possibly process that amount of information?

Edward fell silent, and Alfons almost missed the whispered, "I hope so."

So _this_ was the transmutation Edward always talked about, the one he wasn't quite sure he had gotten right. This was why Edward wasn't sure that his brother was still alive.

The silence was becoming oppressing, and Alfons knew he had to change the subject, or risk having Edward depressed for the rest of the day.

"Ended up here?" He latched on to the second half of Edward's statement. "I thought you were stabbed."

Edward sighed, his head still against Alfons' thigh, turned away from him. "That was the second time," he explained hollowly, in the slightly horrified tone he got whenever he talked about his own death. "Envy stabbed me through the stomach, and I died. Al brought me back to life." A shudder ran through him, and Alfons continued to soothingly play with his hair, making small encouraging noises.

"How?" This was the missing piece, he instinctively knew, the true reason Edward had ended up in his world.

"The Philosopher's Stone," Edward said bleakly. "He used it up to make me a new body. I woke up, and he was gone."

A sort of icy horror was taking over Alfons' mind, as he realized the inevitability of what must have happened next. Before he had started believing, Edward had taunted him often with gory stories of the sacrifice of his arm and leg, seeming to enjoy how disturbing it was, almost relishing it. Given what he had learned of the nature of what Edward called 'Equivalent Exchange'… "You traded yourself for him." He hardly noticed that his hand had stopped its petting. Edward lifted his head, turning to look at Alfons, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Yes."

"You killed yourself." Alfons stared at Edward in horrified fascination. Suicide was _bad_. Worse than bad. Worse even than what Alfons was doing with Edward.

"I had no choice." Edward wasn't asking for understanding, he simply stated a fact, and Alfons found that even more frightening.

He _knew_ that Edward was depressive, unbalanced, but he hadn't ever thought Edward capable of committing suicide. Not just _attempting_ suicide, like was sometimes whispered about failed university students who worked too hard, but actually going through with it all the way, and succeeding.

Abruptly Alfons found himself needing space, time to think, but he could think of no way to brush Edward off without hurting him irrevocably.

"You always have a choice," Alfons found himself saying, and Edward flinched almost imperceptibly.

Edward pulled away and got to his feet, and Alfons made no move to go after him, secretly relieved.

It was sobering to know that Edward had proved to be fully capable of destroying himself when he felt the situation warranted it. And Alfons couldn't help but wonder, what was to stop Edward from doing it a second time?


	10. And he was searching

Hookay. It's moving, finally. The acceleration may be approximately the speed of molasses, but it's moving. Hopefully, since y'all have stuck around this far, you'll hang around long enough to see where we get... and I'll take this moment to thank you readers and reviewers. Feedback seriously keeps me going, some days ;) do not underestimate the importance of a nice review to brighten a dull college day!  
So, this chapter, for those who wondered, things are happening in Amestris too. Big, important things. Big important meaningful - oh, I'll just stop.

* * *

Alphonse Elric did not believe Edward was alive. He _knew_ it. For him, it was just one of those facts of life.

When he had woken up, ten years old, and realized that he was missing about six years out of his life, the first thing he had done was look for Edward. Ed would know what had happened. Even if Ed was _also_ six years older than he should be, he knew that Ed wouldn't watch him with those strange, pitying looks everybody seemed to have when around him.

They told him Ed was dead. _How can that be?_ Al had asked in bewilderment. _What happened to him?_

Nobody knew. That lack of knowledge infuriated Al like nothing else. If there was no body, how could they say that his brother was dead? They claimed to have known Ed for six years longer than he, but they seemed to miss such an important thing about his brother. Ed didn't just _die._ If he was gone, there was a reason for it. But if there was no body, then he would be back. Ed would always come back to Al; it was as simple as that.

Maybe that was when he started thinking of them subconsciously as 'They', classifying them as the people who didn't _know_. Granny, Winry, Teacher, the unfamiliar woman called Rose, the soldiers that kept dropping by to 'check up on him'; all of them were lumped together in his mind.

_They_ refused to tell him about Ed. _They_ watched him sadly when they thought he wasn't looking, lost in some tragedy they wouldn't tell him about. _They_ wouldn't listen when he told them Ed was still alive.

Slowly, painstakingly, Al collected information about the missing years. He found pictures, of his brother with a suit of armor, but no pictures of himself. Where was he? Had the failed transmutation somehow made him vanish entirely? And why had his brother spent so much time with the person wearing that armor?

Al started asking questions. The next time the soldiers came to visit – Maria and Danny, their names were, and they always pretended they weren't soldiers, he cornered them.

_You know something, don't you?_ He had demanded. Generalizations would get him nowhere; he knew this from previous interrogations, so he jumped in with his questions. _Who is the person wearing the armor that I see with Brother in all the pictures?_ Then, because he knew that it always got people flustered, he allowed his voice to tremble and waver. _Did Brother…replace me?_

Maria and Danny had exchanged a glance, and the familiar look of guilty pity was in their eyes. Finally Danny had broken – Al knew he would cave, Danny was just too nice- and told him. Al had spent the last six years as a soul in a suit of armor, transmuted by Edward.

If anything, that had only increased his simmering rage at all of Them, and increased his confidence. His brother had succeeded in such an amazing alchemical feat, and they could walk around with closed, guilty faces, pretending he was dead? If his brother had actually successfully restored his body, how could they even _consider_ him being weak enough to die before seeing Al?

* * *

Al spent the next few weeks contemplating what he had learned. He knew, without a doubt, that his brother had attempted -and succeeded- in human transmutation and that he was the living proof. Now that he knew this, he was comforted that the strange differences he had been noticing about his body lately were not the product of his mind; he was genuinely changed.

Al locked himself in the bathroom, stripped, and inspected his body carefully in front of a mirror. Wonderingly, Al ran his hands down his arms and chest, suddenly realizing, _I am my brother's greatest creation. _Al carefully inspected every inch of himself, looking for flaws. With a kind of excited wonder, he found details of his body that were actually very different from what he remembered.

Oh, everything _worked _properly, that wasn't the problem. But there were little changes, like the fact that some of his freckles seemed to have vanished (though he didn't really expect Ed to remember the exact placement of freckles on places like his upper thighs). Also, the shape of the white crescents under his fingernails were now much more pronounced than they had been.

Fascinated by these discoveries, he continued his inspection, and was amazed to discover several not-so-small 'mistakes' in his make-up. Al noticed that he had no fingerprints. He didn't know whether this was an oversight on Ed's part, or whether at the moment of truth fingerprints had just not been the highest on Ed's priority list, but the tips of his fingers were strangely smooth. A close inspection showed that the bottoms of his feet were similarly nondescript. Well, if it was between having fingerprints and having working kidneys, Al would take the kidneys any day.

Scrutinizing his mouth uncovered the fact that Ed had straightened his teeth for him, which was actually rather nice.

Al wasn't quite sure, but he had his suspicions that his eyelashes were a bit longer, and that his eyes were a lighter gray than they had been.

What happened to his hair, though, was quite curious. In his memories, his hair was a fairly uniform darkish-blond, several shades darker than Ed's. For some unknown reason, though, his hair was actually highlighted now, ranging from almost-brown on the bottom layers to bright gold strands on top. Wouldn't it have been easier to just stick with one color?

The shape of his cock was also rather different than he remembered, though that made sense; Edward would hardly be carrying a vivid image in his mind of what his brother's _penis _looked like. Al laughed to himself quietly. He didn't really mind much.

The new shape was just as good as the old one, he supposed.

Somehow, all these changes made Ed seem much more real to him, more human. _Anybody _could make mistakes, and the little imperfections in his body only drove home how hard his brother had worked to make him perfect. Looking at himself in the mirror, Al felt closest to his brother. This image of him was the one that Ed had carried around in his mind. True, it was a rather idealized, slightly inaccurate version of who Al had been, but it was how _Ed _had seen him. He felt that by looking at his body, he could gain access to his brother's mind.

Even his features were slightly changed, Al noted, when he stepped back and regarded himself as a whole. Now that he knew to look for the differences, he could see that the resemblance to their mother was just a little more pronounced, which also made Al inexplicably happy, as did the clear similarity to Ed.

Overall, he decided, he was very proud of his brother. The only glaring physical problem that he could see was the age, and that was something he couldn't understand. Why had Ed subtracted from his age?

Since he had been in the armor and hadn't aged visibly, did Ed subconsciously still see him as a ten-year-old, and so had created a ten-year-old body for him? Had this in fact been a conscious decision on Ed's part, not to deal with the complexities of artificially aging Al in his imagination, but instead playing it safe and creating a body that he had a clear image of in his mind?

But most of all, what bothered him were his missing memories. In his mind, there wasn't even a large blank gap where memories _should _be. All he had was the memory of the transmutation going horribly wrong, a moment of disorientation, and then waking up in a hospital. The knowledge of his missing memories bothered him the most.

Al couldn't conceive of a situation in which his brother would _purposely _tamper with his mind. The thought was simply ludicrous, which left only one option.

Ed had failed. Somehow, when transmuting his body, Ed simply hadn't _known _how to implant the memories in his new body, or he had tried and was unsuccessful at it. That, more than anything, saddened Al. When Ed found his way back, what was he going to say to him?

The other inaccuracies were amusing - Al could imagine ribbing his brother playfully about an obsession with eyelashes or some such nonsense. But the memory loss _wasn't. _Al knew, without a doubt, that Ed would see it as the worst kind of failure and inadequacy on his part, and that Ed would blame himself.

That, most of all, led to Al's decision. The memories might be irretrievable. But until Ed returned, Al would do his damnedest to learn all he could about what had happened. He would pump everybody he could for information, dig up every story and picture and document, so that when Ed finally returned, Al would be able to smile at him and pretend that he remembered almost everything. After all, a few inaccuracies here and there were to be expected.

_Anything _was better than having to tell his brother that he had messed up, and that what was probably the most amazing and important transmutation of his life was less than perfect.

* * *

The problem was that he got little to no cooperation from the people around him.

Nobody seemed to be willing to tell him much of anything about those missing years. Apparently, they were afraid of him doing something silly, like killing himself in an attempt to resurrect Ed. Al tried to be reasonable. After all, he explained, there was no _reason _to resurrect Ed, since Ed wasn't dead in the first place!

As a rule, that killed the conversation. Whoever he happened to be talking to - be it Rose, or Teacher, or Winry, or even Sig and Pinako, would fall silent, a sad look on their faces. After a moment, they would either try to explain to Al gently that Ed _wasn't _coming back, or mutter a halfhearted 'yeah...' or 'I hope you're right'.

It was unbearably frustrating, not to mention lonely.

Al wondered sometimes if they blamed him at all for Ed's disappearance. Nobody would be so crass as to _say _something like that, of course, but Al still wondered.

All in all, the combination of their disbelief, sorrow, and the sudden age gap served to separate Al from the people he should have loved best. He _still _loved them, of course, but he couldn't help but feel betrayed in his brother's name. How could they give up on him so quickly?

And, a small unpleasant thought wormed its way into Al's mind, if something were to happen to _him, _would they give up so easily as well?

Rose finally talked. She didn't know so much about Ed's life, but she had been the last one to see him. The problem was, she explained, those memories were very hazy, and she wasn't quite sure what had happened, or where. But Rose told him about the Lior rebellion, and what Ed had done, and about Scar and the military and a whole host of people whose names Al didn't know.

All the while she cradled her baby, and Al had a suspicion she wished it was Ed's. That night, Al heard a strident argument between Rose and Winry, and could distinctly catch some words - "you shouldn't encourage him!" "He has the right to know... "

That, more than anything, reassured him that the strange story Rose had told was based in truth. Otherwise, nobody would have cared about him learning of it. Armed with knowledge and a name, Al set off for Central.

* * *

He prepared for the meeting carefully. He spent hours studying the pictures of Ed, noting the details, until he finally fixed on the look he wanted. When he emerged from his room, dressed for the first time in his new look, he wasn't prepared for the stares.

People _watched_ him. He could feel their eyes on him all the time as he walked through the streets, could hear the whispers behind him. At first he felt mildly self-conscious, but soon he straightened his back with pride. His long hair bounced against his back, and the red coat billowed dramatically, and he knew that Ed had walked like this also.

_Nobody_ would forget his brother. Every step he took was like a re-affirmation of what he knew. Someday, Ed would be back, and until then, he would keep Ed's image, his legend, alive in the consciousness of the people.

Al stalked into Central Headquarters, ignoring the looks with a confidence he didn't know he had. It only took him a few minutes to reach the office he was looking for.

He knocked on the door and entered, a few minutes early for his appointment.

Roy Mustang had been his brother's commanding officer, and his reaction was everything Al could have hoped for.

For a moment, the soldier stood frozen, staring at Al, his face white as if he had seen a ghost. The next, Mustang dragged Al violently into the room, slamming the door behind him.

"Are you insane?" he hissed, shaking Al by the shoulders. "What are you thinking, walking around dressed like that? Don't you know that your brother is a wanted man?"

"No," Al said coldly, frowning at the man. "I don't know, because nobody will tell me anything." His heart beat more frantically in his chest. Wanted? What could his brother possibly have done?

Mustang pulled away, and ran a distracted hand through his hair, yet Al could see the look he shot out of the corner of his eye. Yes, Mustang had the same look all the others had – guilt, sadness, and Al was not above playing on it to get what he wanted.

Mustang composed himself, and went back to sit behind his desk. He gestured, and Al made himself comfortable on one of the sofas.

"Why is he wanted?" Al shot the opening question.

Mustang had difficulty meeting his eyes. "He is believed responsible for the destruction of Lior, and the murder of nine hundred soldiers."

The thought was so ludicrous, Al didn't even feel angry at the accusation. His brother, murdering? Ridiculous. "You were his commanding officer. You must know that he would never do that."

"I know," Mustang said firmly. "I have submitted the proof in my possession, with the interest of clearing his name. But it was only enough to make them _consider_ that he _might_ not be responsible."

"Well," Al was confused, "we'd better do something about it, right? It would be really silly for Brother to come back and find this mess, wouldn't it?"

Mustang was silent for a moment, and Al waited. Here it came, the 'he's not coming back' talk.

"Consider this," Mustang finally said. "If your brother's case were to be reevaluated, it would encourage investigations. Investigations which," he shot a sharp look at Al, "might eventually lead them to _you._ Trust me when I say that your brother would rather be remembered as a mass murderer, than have you spend the rest of your life in a laboratory."

Al froze, only now realizing the implications of his life. If the military knew he was the product of human transmutation…but still. "My brother is going to be back!" Al said hotly.

"_If_ your brother returns, let us hope that he will have something to tell us about what happened that will help clear his name."

Al glared at the soldier. "You too! Why do you think he's dead? How can you pretend to know my brother, when you think he would leave me so easily?"

Mustang looked at him, and again, Al could see the deep guilt on his features. "Alphonse, the last day I saw him, I knew that Fullmetal was willing to sacrifice his life for your sake, and I knew that there was a good chance it would be necessary. I let him go, and only you returned." Pain was in his voice, and Al suddenly felt rather uncomfortable.

It wasn't Their fault they didn't know Ed well enough to realize he would be back, Al thought to himself. If anything, they were suffering more than he was, thinking that Ed was gone.

"So," Mustang cleared his throat, regulating his tone, "I believe that now you understand why you cannot wander around wearing those clothes."

Al smiled slightly, and nodded. "I see _why _I should stop wearing these clothes. But I'm not going to." He wouldn't let them forget Ed. "And I will find my brother."

Mustang looked at him, but at the same time _through _him, and Al knew that he was remembering Ed. Finally, Mustang looked down, and leaned back heavily in his chair.

"The two of you were always insane," he mumbled sadly. Abruptly he regained control of himself, and looked at Al, emotions once again hidden behind a businesslike mask. "I wish you luck, Alphonse," he said gravely.

Yes, Al thought triumphantly. This would work. "Help me," he pleaded gently. "Tell me about my brother."

Mustang looked like he was going to resist, so Al stalked up to the desk and leaned over, looking straight into Mustang's eye. "You know I lost my memories. Unless you help me find out what happened, how can I ever know where to bring Brother back _from?"_

The combination of the pleading, the resemblance, and the clothing did its work. Mustang looked away, pained, and Al knew the man wouldn't deny him anything in his power to give. Some part of him felt bad at exploiting Mustang's guilt, but Al quashed the feeling. It was for the best, he told himself. If nobody cooperated, he might never find Ed, and if he found Ed, they could all stop feeling so guilty about him.

So he sat quietly and listened as Mustang told him about his wild young subordinate who had been the Fullmetal Alchemist.

That night, Al started his first notebook about his brother. Painstakingly he wrote down the details, trying to capture who his brother had been to the Colonel.

He also made a list of people Mustang had mentioned, resolving to question them too.

The next day he began his search after a popular fiction series Mustang had pointed him towards, about the adventures of the Fullmetal Alchemist, and began one of many sojourns in libraries, digging up newspaper clippings.

* * *

And so began his journey across Amestris. Practically everywhere he went he encountered stories, and his notebooks filled up rapidly. Many stories contradicted each other, and he wasn't welcomed happily everywhere.

Some people believed that Ed was truly responsible for the massacre at Lior. Others thought it was a plot by the military to discredit the heroic People's Alchemist.

In some tiny out-of-the-way places they asked, "What massacre?"

Strangely enough, the longer he spent wandering around in Ed's clothes, the more people believed that he was right, and that Ed might actually be returning some day.

Often it was only small things, like Winry commenting that Ed's automail was definitely ruined, and musing how much he might have grown, but every comment like that gave Al a flush of success.

As time went on, though, the people around him grew to hope more, yet Al started to fight doubt. It was almost frightening, sometimes, how much people seemed to _want_ to believe him, to want their hero back. So many people drew hope from Al, based on nothing but hearsay and his convictions, and Al found their trust almost worrisome. What if he was _wrong_? What if this _was_ nothing more than an expression of his own wishful thinking?

And if everybody was _talking_ about it, and _thinking_ about it, then why wasn't so much as a hint of Ed's whereabouts showing up? Before long, Al would be running out of places to look.

Al would always quash these thoughts quickly, but they still wore away at him, growing increasingly more bothersome.

Until the night of the dream.

* * *

Al often dreamt about his brother. Sometimes they were dreams he knew were based on stories people had told him, usually featuring his brother loudly causing trouble in some town or another. These dreams invariably left Al with a bittersweet feeling upon waking, because no matter how many people told those stories, he knew that there were the small holes in the tales. The holes describing the times when Al and Ed had been alone together, and there was nobody to tell him what Ed had been like then.

But there were other dreams, hazy ones where he always looked on Ed from above, that left him unsure whether they were nothing but his own overactive imagination, or truly some remnant of his lost memory.

This dream was different, though. It was very foggy and hazy, but Ed appeared in it. Ed, as Al had never seen or imagined him before. This Ed was older, and he wore his hair tied back in a plain ponytail, while his clothes were drab whites and browns. In the dream, Al was talking to him, though later he couldn't remember what they had talked about. What he remembered the most when he woke up was the aura of depression hanging around his brother, the way his smile was halfhearted, and how his shoulders slumped, movements stiff. Jerking awake, Al grabbed the nearest notebook and quickly wrote down everything he could remember. Depressingly, it wasn't much, hardly more than a jumble of disconnected words, but Al found himself energized beyond belief.

He didn't know where the dream had come from, but he was certain it _meant _something. Somewhere, far away, Ed was _alive, _and trying to find his way home. Al redoubled his efforts, filled with a new conviction.


	11. Fantasy

Yep, we're getting there! Now, this chapter we have some more slight naughtiness... and I won't say more right now, I'm looking forward to the next chapter too much :D

* * *

It was just an embarrassing little fantasy. Alfons wasn't quite sure _why_ the idea appealed to him so much, but it didn't change the fact that sometimes, when Edward wasn't around, he found himself falling back on that familiar one.

Obviously, this was more proof that he was innately an extremely twisted specimen of human being. After all, how many people could claim that the thought of a person lacking an arm turned them on? But that didn't stop Alfons from guiltily imagining Edward with his prosthetic off, naked and helpless beneath him…. Edward trying to pull him closer, scrabbling at his back awkwardly with one arm, while Alfons stroked him teasingly.

Despite how accommodating Edward usually was about things Alfons wanted to do, the German never quite dared voice this thought. Edward was _very_ sensitive about his prosthetics, and Alfons didn't want to pressure his friend – he was still rather nervous thinking about Edward as his lover – into something he really didn't want to do.

So the idea remained a guilty, unfulfilled fantasy – at least, that was the plan, until the accident.

It was a typical freezing winter's day, and the snow was piled up all over the city. Needless to say, their warehouse tended to be rather cold and damp. It was impossible to warm such a large area, and what with people coming in and out and tracking in snow, the general air was not the most cheerful.

Edward seemed to suffer from the cold more than anyone else did; he was achy and miserable, and his prosthetics grew stiff with ice. Stiffer than usual, that is. Outdoors, he wore twice as many layers as Alfons considered necessary, and he would probably have worn his coat to bed at night if the German hadn't convinced him otherwise.

Alfons was working several meters away when it happened, so he wasn't quite sure of the details. He managed to piece together the situation later – apparently, Edward had been working a little too near one of the engine prototypes, and his sleeve had been soaked through. Not having any feeling in the prosthetics, he had brushed his arm up against one of the engine parts, and managed to give himself an unpleasant electrical shock.

At the time, though, all Alfons heard was a yelp, and he ran over to find Edward sitting on the floor clutching his arm, his face white.

"Stupid fucking piece of crap," Edward muttered furiously. Alfons was probably the only one who knew he was talking about his arm, not the engine.

Dorochett helped him up, inquiring whether Edward was alright. Biting his lip so hard it looked like it might start bleeding, Edward shook his head stiffly.

Suppressing the urge to hover protectively, Alfons put an arm around Edward's shoulders to keep him steady.

"I'll take him home," Alfons offered. "He should probably rest a bit."

Dorochett laughed ruefully. "Today must be a bad day; losing _both_ of you?"

Darn. Dorochett was right, they couldn't afford to have Edward _and_ Alfons out at the same time, they would never make the deadline, especially with Edward's lighting-quick calculation skills out of commission.

"He'll come right back," Edward said gruffly. "I don't need a nursemaid. I'll be fine."

Alfons nodded reluctantly in agreement. He would have rather liked to use this as a pretext to spend the rest of the day coddling Edward, but it really wasn't a good enough excuse.

It was a sign of how badly Edward must be hurting that he made no fuss about the supporting hand Alfons kept on his arm all the way back to Gracia's.

Gracia looked up worriedly from her flowers when they walked in, and hurried over. "Is everything alright?"

"Just a small accident at work, Edward's going to be fine," Alfons said, and Edward nodded agreement.

She hovered protectively around them all the way upstairs, and promised to come by later with some chicken soup, for which Edward looked profoundly grateful.

-

Ignoring Edward's weak protests, Alfons worked the coat off of Edward's shoulders and tossed it aside. Flinching a little, Edward let out a soft yelp when his arm was jostled, making Alfons jerk his hands away reflexively.

"Did I hurt you?"

Biting his lip, Edward shook his head, his right hand clenched tightly over his fake shoulder. "No, it hurts anyway."

They should probably get the prosthetic off, Alfons thought, and reached for the buttons on Edward's vest.

"Don't…" Edward feebly tried to bat his hands away. He refused to give up, though, and firmly pushed Edward's human hand aside.

"What's wrong with it, exactly? I thought you couldn't feel anything with your prosthetic."

Edward latched onto the distraction, and allowed Alfons to sit him down and continue undressing him. "I _don't_ feel, but it's wired into my nerves… I think I got burned or something-"

A bump to the arm cut off Edward's explanation, and Alfons looked on in worry as his friend hissed and bit his lip.

Carefully working Edward's shirt off, Alfons kept up a murmured litany of comforting sounds, and Edward seemed to relax marginally against the chair.

There were no visible signs of burning around the shoulder, but Edward still flinched when Alfons prodded gently. It looked like the damage wasn't terrible, though, and the coil of tension in Alfons' belly was slowly relaxing. Edward would be fine.

"I've got to take it off." Edward struggled to sit up and reached for the straps across his chest, but Alfons once again pushed his hands away, earning himself a worried glare.

"Let me do it for you," Alfons said soothingly, stroking Edward's face gently. "It's going to be okay, trust me. Just tell me how to disconnect it."

Edward was relaxing under his caresses, the lines of tension seeping out of his body. It made Alfons heart pound, seeing Edward like this. Edward _trusted_ him, trusted him enough to sit quietly while Alfons opened the straps that held on his arm, trusted him enough to allow Alfons to render him helpless.

Carefully he removed the arm's covering, revealing the metal and plastic contraption beneath.

Edward gasped slightly again, his head leaning down so his chin was practically on his chest. Alfons stroked his shoulders, sweaty despite the cold, and tried to work the tension out of the smooth skin.

"There's two points near the shoulder," Edward said, his voice slightly husky. "Press them and twist the arm…uhnn!" He arched his back when Alfons followed his directions, and carefully worked the arm out of the socket.

There were several moments of shifting around, open-mouthed panting, and small moans which reminded Alfons uncomfortably of his fantasy. He felt horribly guilty for even thinking it, but after all, Edward was sitting here, armless, and if Alfons were to use the situation to comfort him a little bit…

The arm was lighter than he expected, and Alfons set it aside carefully; maybe the circuits weren't entirely ruined.

Turning back to Edward, he paused suddenly, getting his first glance of the actual port the prosthetic connected to. Alfons gulped convulsively. The fantasy hadn't included concentric circles of metal embedded in his body, with raised, sickly-pink bits of flesh visible in between. Nor had it included the dark _hole_ in the center, seeming to sink deep inside Edward, or the raised skin, under which colored wires could clearly be seen.

Before he knew what was happening, Alfons found himself gagging reflexively.

Edward stared at him, wide eyed. "Alfons…?"

"I'm…fine…" he managed, and took a few steps back, trying not to look at the horrible metal contraption embedded in his friend's shoulder. "Just give me a moment!" With that Alfons fled for the bathroom, and spent the next few moments hunched over the sink, fighting nausea.

God, the image was burned into his retinas. Breathing heavily, he sank to the floor, and leaned his head back against the wall, staring blankly at the ceiling. It must have hurt horribly, getting that thing installed, he mused, and abruptly had to fight off another wave of nausea at the thought of someone drilling screws into him.

With a sigh, Alfons pushed himself up. As long as he didn't think about it too much, he should be all right. He went back to the kitchen, only to find Edward gone.

"Edward?" He turned around, trying to find where Edward might have vanished to, and noticed the open door to Edward's now-mostly-unused room. Strange. Why would Edward have gone there?

The door creaked slightly when he pushed it open, to find Edward curled up on the small bed, a blanket wrapped around him.

"Are you okay?" Alfons made to advance, but stopped short when Edward flinched.

"Fuck off." Edward just curled up tighter, hiding his face in his bent knees.

"Does it hurt?" Could the nerves have been damaged worse than he had thought? "Should I get you a drink?"

"Stop fucking pretending!" Edward looked up at him furiously. "You're the one who thinks I'm so hideous it makes you want to puke!"

Shocked, Alfons took a step back. "No!" he burst out. "That's not true! I'm just not used to seeing…" With three quick steps he was next to Edward, and pulled the man into his arms. Firmly banishing all thoughts of scars and metal from his mind, Alfons forced himself to focus on the living, breathing reality that was trying to squirm away from him. "Just give me a chance," he murmured into Edward's hair, and kissed a trail down the side of his face. "Please, Edward."

"Let…go…" Edward struggled, pushing uselessly at Alfons' face with his hand. By now, though, Alfons had been with Edward long enough to realize that any time Edward wanted _away_, he could toss Alfons off easily.

Determined not to give in, he crawled onto the bed next to Edward. Before Edward figured out what he was doing, he hoisted the man onto his knees, and wrapped both arms around him.

Edward was taken completely by surprise, and didn't even bother struggling, only looked around with a confused expression at finding himself on another person's _lap_, of all places.

God, Alfons knew that even if Edward killed him for this it was worth it, because Edward was _sitting on his lap,_ head tucked against Alfons chest. Any moment now Edward would be realizing the reality of the situation and would probably murder him, but for now he was floating in a blissful euphoria.

The euphoria lasted barely a minute. It was long enough to realize that, looks aside, Edward made the worst cuddling material in the _universe_. The man seemed to be all elbow, even with only one arm, and managed to poke Alfons all over with his bony appendages. As if that wasn't enough, where he _wasn't_ bone he was all hard muscle, which was very nice to lick, but not necessarily the most comfortable thing to hold. Combine that with the fact that Edward was ridiculously heavy for his size and was making Alfons' legs fall asleep, and Alfons was quite ready to encourage Edward to get off of him.

It was exactly at that moment that Edward, seeming to have snapped out of his shock, shot Alfons an almost shy smile, and decided that he absolutely _adored_ cuddling.

Before Alfons realized what was happening, Edward had twined his arm around Alfons' neck, tucked himself neatly into the curve of Alfons' body, and settled down for a nice long hug, a serene expression on his face.

Poor Alfons just sat there silently, with a completely uncomfortable armful of Edward, and tried to comfort himself with the fact that he was apparently forgiven.

He also swore to himself that he was never, ever going to fantasize about Edward again. The results were too frightening.

And yet…Alfons found himself looking down at the top of Edward's head, buried in his neck, and fondness welled up, making his heart pound a bit faster. Edward had never held him this way before, as if Alfons was his sole lifeline.

He had never even dared fantasize about something like this, but reality was proving much more powerful and meaningful than any fantasy.

More uncomfortable, though, too.

* * *

To make up for the time spent with Edward, Alfons stayed late that night. They had relocated to a field just outside of Munich to run some tests on their rockets, which had flown quite a bit better now that they were using the liquid fuels Edward was helping develop.

But despite the efficiency in flight, there were severe corrosion problems, and Alfons volunteered to stay behind and make sure they collected all of the scattered rocket parts for analysis.

Now, as it was getting dark, Alfons was regretting not insisting that someone stay to keep him company as he tramped around in the frigid snow.

And really, where was Edward? he wondered to himself. Law had promised to tell Edward to come pick him up. If one of them forgot… Alfons shivered morosely, and tried to cheer up. There was no way Edward would leave him here to freeze.

Thankfully, his optimistic side turned out to be correct. Within half an hour he heard the rumble of a motor, and Edward drove up, looking almost comical in his many layers of clothing.

"Hey!" Alfons called, doing his best to wave with his arms full of rocket parts. Edward grinned and waved back at him with his left arm – the prosthetic. Apparently he had already gotten around to installing a replacement, and Alfons was relieved to see there seemed to be no lasting damage.

Edward waddled towards him through the snow. His face was barely visible behind the scarf wrapped around it and the hat pulled down to his eyebrows, and Alfons couldn't suppress the grin. At first Edward had been rather loudly disparaging of the hats Gracia had knitted them, but had rapidly decided that, bright orange yarn notwithstanding, they were better than freezing and had appropriated Alfons' as well.

"Got everything?" Edward asked, his voice muffled. "How'd they fly today?"

Gesturing at one of the piles, Alfons motioned for Edward to carry it to the car and picked up the other –the heavier– one. No sense straining the new arm so soon. "They flew well, but not much further or higher than usual," Alfons said, puffing out steam into the freezing air. "We've still got a bad corrosion problem."

"Hm." Edward made a noncommittal noise, and dumped his armload into the back seat. Alfons did likewise, rather amused by the fact that Edward was dancing impatiently next to him.

"That eager to get going?"

Edward twitched sheepishly, unable to run his hands through his hair like he was used to with all the layers on. "No, I want to show you something."

"Oh?" With curiosity, and slight alarm, Alfons watched as Edward began to unwind the scarf and shucked the coat into the car. Edward couldn't possibly be thinking about sex _here_, could he?

Finally Edward stood, having gotten rid of several of his outer layers of clothing, but kept the gloves. "I got the chance to finally try out one of the new prosthetics the bastard sent me," he said, eyes sparkling and lips tinged blue. "They're so much better than the old ones!"

Alfons forgot completely about reprimanding Edward for speaking about his father that way, because the next thing Edward did was raise both arms and proceed to throw himself face first into the asphalt.

"Aaah!" He couldn't suppress the startled yell and took an instinctive step forward to try and catch Edward, keep him from falling –

Edward, standing upside down on his hands, cocked his head and shot him a quizzical look.

"What…?" Alfons managed, staring in shock. He was rather sure that people were not meant to stand on their hands, and if they were already doing it, they shouldn't look so comfortable about it! Edward was walking around and flailing his legs, for goodness' sake!

Finally Edward righted himself and stood properly, fixing his hair and his clothes with an excited grin on his face. "Well?"

"I…uh, that doesn't look so safe to me," Alfons temporized nervously.

He should have expected Edward to start laughing.

And then Edward, apparently thinking it funny to try and cause Alfons' heart attacks, flipped his whole body backwards, bounced once on his hands, and then landed again in an upright position. As if that wasn't bad enough, he then executed a strange jump which had him spinning in the air, head pointed towards the ground.

Unable to help himself, Alfons covered his eyes, only daring to look when he didn't hear the distinctive crunch of somebody's head hitting the ground.

Sure enough Edward stood there in one piece, shivering slightly with his teeth chattering, and a smirk twitching at his nearly purple lips.

"I'v-ve b-been d-doing this for y-yearrss," he said archly, though the effect was really rather ruined by the cold.

Alfons shook his head, and picked up Edward's coat. "I'm very impressed, but how about we get going before you catch cold?" he said, wrapping it around Edward's shoulders.

"Pfft, I d-don't get sick-k much in thiss worldd," Edward scoffed, but slipped his hands into the coat sleeves and arranged the scarf again. Alfons felt a warm sense of comfort at his pronouncement. _He was safe from…_

Alfons made to go into the car, but was stopped by Edward's hand on his arm, making him lose his train of thought. He looked up questioningly.

"Alfons…" Edward said hesitantly, his golden eyes focused intently on him, "You know that I'm doing all this to find a way back to my world, right?"

At that, Alfons wanted to jerk away in anger. Of course he knew that Edward wanted to leave. He comforted himself time and time again with the fact that it didn't really matter, because he was dying anyway, but Edward didn't have to _rub it in_.

And it was patently obvious that Edward didn't care about him nearly as much as he cared about Edward.

_Yet_, Alfons suddenly paused in his unhappy train of thought, that morning Edward had reacted very severely when he thought that Alfons thought he was ugly…

Edward didn't leave him to consider, though, and continued speaking, dragging Alfons away from that tantalizing train of thought.

"Would you…do you think, maybe…"

Alfons nearly felt his heart stopping. _Edward couldn't be asking him…?_

"Do you want to help me?" Edward finished tentatively.

His stomach plummeted at that, because did Edward honestly expect him to _help_ him find a way to get away from Alfons? But God, Edward cared enough about him to _want_ his help, Edward wanted to share his dream with _Alfons_ of all people…

Edward was watching him, expressive eyes wide and hopeful, and Alfons couldn't answer.

This was what he _wanted_, a ticket into Edward's hopes and fantasies, but it was a limited offer, on Edward's terms. He couldn't do it to himself, tie himself to Edward so hard that he would never escape.

His hedging had gone on too long. The hope died in Edward's eyes and he looked away quickly, mumbling a soft 'never mind'.

Alfons refused to give in to the wrenching in his gut as the golden opportunity was dwindling before his eyes. He refused to become trapped in Edward's dream. Selfishly, he wanted Edward in _his_. He wouldn't be the instrument for Edward's departure.

"Yes," he blurted, and immediately wished he could destroy his pathetic, traitorous self. Edward paused and looked up, hopeful once again, and the lost look on his face killed what was left of Alfons' resolution. After all, what did it matter? His death was inevitable; at least he should send Edward back where he belonged. "I want to help you," he said, tasting the words.

Edward clambered over into the driver's seat and shot Alfons a wonderful smile, the kind of smile anybody would do anything in order to have directed at them. It nearly chased away the perpetual sadness in his eyes, and it crumbled what little willpower Alfons had left.

He would be happy to help Edward, because what he really wanted was for Edward to smile like that all the time, even if he himself wasn't there to see it.

Alfons sat down in the seat next to Edward, and gently squeezed the fingers of his human hand where it lay on the clutch. "Shall we go home?"

"Yeah." In a last preparation for the ride home through the cold, Edward rewrapped his head in the layers of wool. Somehow Alfons had the feeling they wouldn't be doing much talking on the way back.


	12. A Dimensional Issue

FINALLY. I have been waiting for this chapter for SO LONG. Hopefully, this should give you all a better idea of where things are going now... And, since we've reached a nice turning point in the story, I want to thank those of you reading and commenting - I love you all. I would give you cookies if I could, but since I can't, you'll have to make do with e-cookies. (btw, the whole 'turning point' business was just an excuse XP You guys make me happy no matter what).  
So...on with the story!

* * *

Alchemy was pretty, Alfons quickly realized. It drove him insane, because every time he thought he had finally _gotten_ the principles, Edward explained to him that no, he hadn't – but it was very pretty to look at. 

As a science, it was wonderfully elegant. Simply drawing out the loops and coils, adding marks here and there, and the design became the ultimate energy conductor, no matter what material it was originally crafted from.

The problem was, it made absolutely _no sense_.

"So…you draw something, and then it can affect matter?"

"Argh!" Edward tore at his hair. "It's not like that!" His patience had run out several hours ago. "It's like a _code_. The code that unlocks the universe. When you create these symbols, they affect the way things work." A hundred years down the line, he would have compared it to hacking a computer system. Sadly, since computers didn't exist yet, Edward really had no way of explaining himself.

"If the arrays affect matter, then how did you get here? What exactly is this 'Gate' thing you keep talking about?" Alfons had no idea how many times they had repeated this conversation, but he still wasn't quite getting it. It was terribly frustrating, especially as, when it came to physics, he was normally pretty quick.

It didn't help that Edward lost patience with him after about five minutes, and the discussions would usually turn into arguments, which would turn into shouting matches, which would turn into- blushing, Alfons cut off that train of thought.

"Since I got 'flipped', then obviously the Gate has to be some sort of artificial portal through a fourth spatial dimension. It opens whenever somebody tries to transmute humans."

"But _why_? Why should that happen?" He was _trying_ to be reasonable, really he was.

Sadly, Edward didn't appreciate it, and glared at him. "I don't fucking know why that happens! What exactly do you think I am?"

"How do you expect to open this Gate again, when you don't even know why it opens in the first place?"

"Because people have been opening the stupid thing for possibly thousands of years!"

Absently, Alfons captured Edward's hand and laced his fingers through Edward's, mildly amused that Edward didn't seem to notice; he was so caught up in the discussion. Occasionally he would twitch his fingers with emphasis, but overall seemed mildly confused as to why his hand wasn't responding properly, and Alfons thought it was terribly cute.

"I mean….human transmutation," Edward furrowed his brows. "I think it's the soul that does it. Meaning…" The epiphany was hovering right at the edge of his consciousness. "The soul! The soul has to be a construct of a higher dimension! _That's_ why the Gate opens!" Edward grinned at Alfons triumphantly, and Alfons smiled back.

"So…it all comes down to dimensions. If the Gate goes through the fourth dimension, it appears that people keep opening it by accident, only because they try to transmute souls," Alfons rationalized. "And…when you use a two-dimensional array, you're only affecting the third dimension, matter. What happens when you make a three-dimensional array?"

Edward was staring at him in shock, and Alfons felt mildly worried.

"W-what did you say?"

Uncertainly, Alfons repeated himself. "I said, what happens if you make a three dimensional array? By induction, if a two-dimensional one affects three dimensions, than a three-dimensional one should affect the fourth dimension."

Given Edward's look of incredulity, he was probably spouting nonsense again, Alfons thought with chagrin. He was about to apologize, when-

"That's fucking brilliant," Edward breathed, and was now staring at Alfons like he was some sort of god.

"Really?" Fine, so he was fishing for compliments, but Edward calling _anybody_ brilliant was a rare occurrence.

"It's pure genius." There was a faraway look in Edward's eyes, and his fingers were clenching around Alfons' hard enough to be painful. "I would never have thought…I could never have even _considered_ making an array three-dimensional!"

Skeptically, Alfons looked at the example array Edward had drawn for him. Now past the original rush of the idea, he tried to visualize turning the two-dimensional drawing into a three-dimensional…something.

"Actually, I'm not sure it's possible," Alfons said, frowning. "Look at this. How can you make this three dimensional?"

Edward's eyes flicked down, and he frowned too, his brows furrowing in concentration. For several minutes they both sat, concentrating on the drawing, until finally Alfons tore his eyes away with a groan.

"I can't do this, it's giving me a headache."

"Mmm." Edward was still focused, though there was a glassy look in his eyes.

"You'd have to be insane to be able to visualize that," Alfons muttered, glowering at the drawing. And it had seemed like such a _good_ idea…

"It can work," Edward said dreamily. He blinked a few times, coming back down to earth. "I just have to figure out how to translate…if a square has four corners, a cube has eight, which is double, yet a tetrahedron has only four points…with a hexagon…fuck, what _do_ you do with a hexagon?..."

And Edward was off, scribbling out indecipherable numerical series with arrows connecting them seemingly at random.

Watching him, Alfons felt left out once again. He knew almost nothing of alchemy; how could he possibly theorize on how to change the rules to make it three-dimensional?

At least when they had been working on rockets, it was a subject with which Alfons was well versed. But now Edward was going off on a tangent only he understood, as he would eventually go off to a world only he belonged to, and Alfons himself had given him the keys.

"Why are you just sitting there?" Edward suddenly demanded.

"Huh?"

"This is a whole new field, I don't know any more about it than you do. And anyway, this was your idea. Look at this, tell me if it makes sense." Shoving the notes under Alfons' nose, Edward began explaining rapidly the conclusions he was reaching, and why he thought that way.

Alfons tried to follow, and when he pointed out a place where his opinion differed, he was gratified that Edward took him seriously. Well, seriously enough to argue over it with him for the next three hours.

* * *

"But Edward, even if we figure out what sort of array to build, how exactly are you going to make it? You can't really draw it…" He couldn't help but point out all the things that could go wrong with this plan. Edward was so happy, so excited, that he couldn't help but think that this was it, Edward had found the way. Some part of him desperately wanted to discover some insurmountable difficulty that would force Edward to _stay_. Or, at least, delay just a little bit longer… 

"I…" Edward trailed off, suddenly deflating. "I guess we could build it out of something…?"

Alfons frowned, perusing the preliminary sketches. "I don't know…I suppose it depends on how complicated it's going to be." The examples Edward had drawn him had all been fairly simple. "Can you sketch an example of what type of array you think we'd need?"

Ed chewed his lip for a moment, then pulled over a piece of paper and started sketching on it. Alfons watched incredulously as he added on more and more shapes, rows of tiny writing, and lines curving and crisscrossing all over the place.

"Stop, stop!" he demanded, staring at the design. "That's... how do you propose to turn _that_ three-dimensional, much less build it?"

"We'll figure something," Edward said stubbornly. "What if we make it out of metal?"

"We'd need a jeweler or something to get everything right! And all those interlocking parts…do you have any idea of how much that would cost?" Alfons wasn't sure whether he was legitimately finding problems or just poking holes in Edward's theories. Either way he felt mildly unhappy about the whole business.

With a sigh, Edward conceded his point about the metal, and chewed on the end of his pencil. "Maybe if we build a framework, and then stretched cloth over it…? We could weld that ourselves…"

An image of something resembling a large, lopsided balloon rose in Alfons' mind, and he shook his head. "I think that would be even more difficult than getting somebody to build it for us. How would we fit all the pieces in the inside without tearing something?"

Edward shot him a slightly suspicious look, and Alfons wracked his brain for some sort of constructive suggestion, so it wouldn't seem like he didn't want it to work out.

"Um, what about plastic?" He knew it wasn't feasible as soon as he suggested it; it would be completely unaffordable. "Maybe we should try talking to some art students at the university, get some ideas?"

"Shit!" Edward slammed a fist down on the table. "Shit, shit…"

He needed this badly, Alfons knew. Edward kept hoping, kept trying, and Alfons was afraid of what failure would do to him. In an endeavor to keep him thinking, Alfons tried another tack. "Look, Edward, maybe we should try building a small one first? Just to see if it's even workable? That wouldn't be so expensive."

Edward looked at him for a moment, then shook his head. "We can't do that," he said tightly. "It's too dangerous."

What? Alfons was beginning to get slightly frustrated. Not everything had to be an all-or-nothing issue! "What's so dangerous? It should be like any other experiment –"

"Because we're talking about the fourth dimension, here!" Edward exploded. "If we build, say, a fire array – I don't even know what four-dimensional fire _looks_ like, much less how to control it! Do you _want_ to risk flattening the city?"

"How am _I_ supposed to know any of that?" Alfons snapped. "Remember the part where _alchemy doesn't exist here_?"

"It's common sense!" Edward tossed back. "We're dealing with things we don't understand! And besides, do you know how much energy this sort of thing would take?"

Alfons stared at him incredulously. "So you're saying that it's so dangerous and uses up so much energy you won't even _experiment_ with it, but you want to build a _portal_ and _jump right into it_? Are you insane?"

There was a snarl on Edward's face, and Alfons waited for the counterattack, but instead, Edward just closed his mouth and looked down at the useless drawing.

"It _has_ to work," he said in a small, defeated voice, searching the lines as if he could find the answer within them. "It was such a _good_ idea…"

A dull ache somewhere in his chest, Alfons lay a hand on Edward's arm. "It doesn't have to be now," he said encouragingly. "Just because we can't come up with something now doesn't mean it won't work."

"I don't have _time_!" Edward burst out, almost quivering with emotion.

_You_ don't have time? Alfons wanted to ask, but choked back the words, and kept his voice level as he asked why.

"I'll forget," Edward whispered. "Already I can barely remember the way –" he broke off, took a steadying breath, and took a different tack. "This alchemy is difficult. It would be torturous even if I had a library full of reference material, and I don't have _anything_."

"We'll figure something…" Alfons tried to lay a hand on Edward's back, but he pulled away, pushing back his chair and standing up.

"I'm going to go lie down."

Puzzled, and feeling not a little rejected, Alfons watched Edward head towards the kitchen, and emerge with a bottle of whisky.

His heart sank; Edward wasn't so unhappy he was going to drink himself into a stupor over this, was he?

"Edward…"

The man must have heard the reproach in his tone, because Edward turned defensive.

"I'm fine!" He tightened his arms around the bottle. "Just…I want to try something. It may give me ideas."

Edward tried to flee to their room, but Alfons grabbed his shoulder quickly.

"Edward," he said softly, "drinking doesn't make you happy."

Edward shrugged him off. "I _know_. That's not the point."

Alfons followed Edward to his room, refusing to be brushed off. "Then what are you trying to do?"

Edward ignored him, but sat down on his bed and opened the bottle. Right in front of Alfons' scandalized eyes, he tilted his head back and started chugging down the whisky. After a few gulps he was forced to stop, coughing. He blotted his watering eyes on his sleeve, and then continued drinking.

Alfons shuddered at the sight. Edward obviously got no enjoyment from the alcohol; he was simply doing his best to get very drunk, very fast. He wasn't quite sure how Edward was capable of drinking the stuff at such a fast clip – their whisky was pretty foul, that was all they could afford.

Pausing suddenly, Edward gave him a dour look. "I suppose if you insist on hanging around and watching me make a fool of myself, you might as well help out. Ask me about the Gate, later."

"What…?"

But Edward was ignoring him again, all his attention focused on the bottle.

Finally he closed it with a groan, and flopped backwards on the bed. Alfons only narrowly managed to catch the bottle before it crashed on the floor.

Completely nonplussed, Alfons just watched in concern as Edward groaned again, eyes glassy, and pressed his prosthetic hand to his forehead.

"'M hot," Edward mumbled, then glanced over at Alfons. "You…you're…you look like…" He trailed off, looking rather puzzled.

With a strange feeling of surrealism, Alfons concluded that now was indeed 'later', and decided to see what would happen. "You wanted me to ask you about the Gate," he said tentatively.

Edward whipped his head around to stare at Alfons, eyes wide and horrified. "The Gate? No, no….not that…" He suddenly jerked into a sitting position, his whole body shaking. "Ohhh," Edward whimpered miserably.

Alarmed, Alfons leaned closer and put a tentative hand on Edward's back. "I'm sorry I mentioned it…are you alright?"

Edward was muttering under his breath, and Alfons was getting quite worried. He shook his friend carefully, trying to get a reaction, and Edward looked at him. No, Alfons realized, Edward was looking _through _him.

"The mass of the Earth….three point one four one five nine two six…diameter equals six three seven eight point one three seven kilometers, times… equals five point nine seven four two times ten to the twenty fourth kilos...Forty five thousand years and twenty seven days and ten hours and thirty two minutes ago there was a solar eclipse…"

"Edward!" Alfons shook him violently. He had never seen Edward like this, eyes vacant and mumbling under his breath like a madman.

"Make it stop," Edward begged, now speaking in English, "it's too much information, too much, I can't forget it…too much…"

_What had Edward been trying to achieve?_ Alfons thought dazedly. There had been some purpose to getting drunk this time, but what was it? And where was all this data coming from?

"Ya pomnyu slishkam khorosho… u menya galava balit," Edward moaned, in a language that sounded strangely like Russian. Since when did Edward even _know_ Russian?

Alfons pulled Edward into his arms, and rocked him gently, while Edward gasped the chemical formula for something in his ear.

_Why…?_

"Edward," Alfons said slowly, a strange idea suddenly taking hold, "how would you build a three-dimensional alchemic array?"

"Array?" Edward slurred. "In three-dee…fourteen by five, point, curve around, seventeen point three by seventeen, point, sixty by sixty by sixty…"

Alfons heart was pounding with anticipation, wondering. Was this witchcraft? Could Edward be some kind of oracle? The thought was embarrassing, considering Edward's past reaction to it, but _was_ he some sort of demon?

"Make it out of light," Edward said suddenly, his words clearer than before. "Make a sphere out of light…red or green or blue…stimulate the photons, amplify them, concentrate them…mirrors…"

"Sshhh," Alfons stroked his hair, hugging Edward to him. "I got it, I'll remember."

"Make it stop," Edward cried, reverting once again to German, and he tried to bury his face in Alfons' chest.

"Try to sleep," Alfons said soothingly, still stroking him. "Everything's going to be okay…"

Edward hiccupped, but the mad torrent of words seemed to be dissipating. With a sigh of relief he fell silent and succumbed to the alcohol, his breath evening out.

Once Edward was well and truly asleep, Alfons carefully disengaged his arms and lay Edward back down on the bed.

Gently, he brushed Edward's bangs away from his sweaty forehead, but Edward was so deeply under, he didn't even twitch. He used his fingers to smooth down the wrinkles on Edward's face, only slightly guilty over the fact that Edward was completely comatose, and thus unable to gripe about the touches.

"You never told me about this," Alfons said reproachfully. Somehow, every time he thought he was close to deciphering the enigma that was Edward, something else cropped up.

Yet…things had changed. Once he would have immediately assumed there was something vastly wrong with Edward and tried to stay away from him for the next few days in hopes they would both forget about it. Now Alfons just sat himself down with his papers and decided to check whether Edward's mental calculations of the mass of the Earth were correct.

* * *

As evening neared and Edward showed no sign of waking up, Alfons began wondering what he would do at night. Sure, there was the spare bed that had been Edward's, as Edward was now sleeping in _his_ bed, but Alfons wasn't terribly excited at the thought of sleeping there. Truth be told, the mattress was _lousy_. 

Then, of course, there was the couch with its ratty cushions and butt-shaped indents from overuse, which was currently home to stacks of books. Alfons decided to forego the dubious luxury, and take his chances in bed with Edward.

With any luck, the drunken stupor would last 'till morning.

-

Luck was not to be had. Edward groaned awake sometime close to 4:00 a.m., and finding Alfons in bed beside him, proceeded to pester and poke the unfortunate German to find him something to drink.

"I'm _sleeping_," Alfons mumbled, and tried to roll away. Unfortunately, the bed was too small to provide anywhere to escape _to_, and he remained well within Edward's reach.

"I'm suffering here, and you don't even _care_," Edward wailed miserably.

"You don't _get_ hangovers," Alfons growled back, trying to hide under his pillow. "You come back drunk as a dog, and then when _I'm _writhing in pain the next morning, you're all _happy_. You _deserve_ to suffer."

Edward sighed theatrically.

Despite himself, Alfons was beginning to wake up, and he knew he was going to regret it tomorrow. "And what's up with that stuff you were spouting, anyway? I've seen you drunk loads of times, and you never speak Russian. If that _was_ Russian."

Edward lay quiet for a moment, then said softly, "I'm not usually quite so drunk as I look."

_What_? Alfons pushed himself up on his elbow and shot Edward a scathing look, even though he knew his friend couldn't see it. "You've been _faking_ it?" All those times Edward had embarrassed him in public, all those times he'd supported a 'drunken' Edward home, all the times he'd allowed his hands to stray, thinking Edward wouldn't know anyway…Alfons felt his face heat up in embarrassment, even if they were now lovers and doing much more than just touching.

"I'm not… I mean, fine, so I fake it a _little_, but give me a break! A guy has to be able to let go sometimes!"

"Does the thing with…what happened earlier happen every time you get drunk?" Alfons wondered, shuddering slightly. How awful must it be to never be able to let your guard down?

Edward was silent for a moment, and squirmed around uncomfortably. The German was abruptly reminded of Edward's hangover, though he still felt that Edward rather deserved it for chugging down all that alcohol. Gently, he reached over to stroke Edward's scalp soothingly, and Edward moaned a little and rubbed against his hand.

"It never used to happen back home. Automail speeds up the metabolism, and it used to kill alcohol pretty quickly. When I first got here… to England, I mean, I didn't know it would happen. I was at a bar, and got drunk for the first time…" Edward laughed a painful, hollow laugh. "Well, you can imagine how it looked, and word spread quickly. I ended up having to leave the area."

_O__uch_. "But why does it happen?" _Are you quite sane?_ was what Alfons _really_ wanted to ask, but he had the feeling it wouldn't be the best of ideas.

Edward paused a moment to scrub at his eyes, then said tiredly, "Because of the Gate. It's supposed to be the gate to absolute Truth, the repository of all knowledge. I'm not quite sure that's true anymore, but that's irrelevant. Either way, I've got a whole load of information inside my head. Drinking brings down the barriers." Edward was silent again, then asked plaintively, "Will you _please_ get me some water?"

"Fine," Alfons grunted, and rolled off the bed. Stumbling off towards the kitchen, he thought to himself that it really wasn't quite fair. The fact that Edward seemed to have gotten more knowledge in moments than most people gained in a _lifetime,_ and so easily…

He shuffled back to the room, trying to keep the glass steady. "If you've had all this information in your head, why didn't you try something like this earlier?" Really, it could cut research time down _so much_…

Edward reached for the cup eagerly, and gulped a few times. "You think it's fun?" he finally asked, looking tiredly up at Alfons. "I don't know who I am, when that happens to me." He shivered, and Alfons sat down next to him, and gently encouraged him to lie back down.

"I'm afraid of getting lost," Edward mumbled, looking up at Alfons. "But you kept me here." His eyes closed, his breathing evening out.

Alfons crawled into bed next to him, curling up as close to Edward as he could, needing the reassurance of his presence, and rescinded his earlier thought. It wasn't an easy solution at all. The price was heavier than he could imagine.

* * *

Alfons woke up the next morning exhausted, though he should have expected it. For a change, Edward was as miserable as he was, and tried to hide his face in the blankets. 

"Oh no you don't," Alfons mumbled, tugging on the blankets, trying to pry Edward out of them. "Come on, good morning, rise and shine."

"Eta nye khorosho utram…" Edward whimpered, making Alfons pause in his tugging and frown.

"That's not funny, Edward," Alfons poked him, earning himself a glare.

"Shto ti khotchesh?" Edward snapped, finally raising his head from the pillow.

"Quit it with the stupid Russian already!"

"Pridurok, ya nye gavarayu pa-" Edward paused, as if only just noticing the words coming out of his mouth. "_Zaebatelski_." He flopped back onto the blankets, and glowered at the ceiling, looking like he was seriously considering just going back to sleep.

"This could be a bit of a problem," Alfons observed.


	13. Consumption

Sorry for the longer wait! This chapter was a tough one - I wanted to be sure it would work. I hope you enjoy it :)

* * *

"Tyeper?" Edward asked, after about ten minutes of walking.

Alfons sighed. "Nope, still Russian."

Edward mumbled what must have been a curse.

"Has anything like this happened to you before?" Alfons asked, worried. If Edward never managed to get a handle on it, this could be a serious problem. He was starting to really understand why Edward preferred to keep this information buried deep.

Edward thought about it for a while, frowning, then shook his head, not even bothering to talk anymore.

"Maybe if you try speaking English?" Alfons suggested, after a moment's thought.

"Pa Angliskii?" Edward tried, not much hope in his tone.

Walking beside him, Alfons shook his head. "If that was you trying to speak English, then you failed."

Edward rolled his eyes and gave up.

Most of the day he spent trying to say as little as possible, to the point where the rest of the team started wondering what was wrong with him. Alfons said that Edward had come down with a throat bug, and had lost his voice.

Towards evening, though, the spell seemed to pass, and by next morning Alfons was relieved to find Edward speaking almost completely normal German, aside from a few Russian lapses, here and there.

"I'm going to be home late sevodnaya," Edward told him over breakfast. "Might as well make use of the knowledge about light while it's still fresh."

Ignoring the random word – Alfons had a pretty good idea what it was supposed to be – he asked, "You're going to crash some courses on optics?"

Edward nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah. I think these lights could be exactly what we're looking for."

Alfons smiled, but inside, he felt a bit worried.

"Drop by the labs later today," Edward invited him, and Alfons nodded agreement.

* * *

True to his word, Alfons made his way over to the optics lab that afternoon, to find Edward in a corner experimenting with lights, tubes, and wires.

"Remind me what it is we're trying to do?" Alfons asked, watching as Edward replaced a light bulb for a higher-voltage one.

"In order to build an array out of light, we have to concentrate it to the point where we can work with it easily," Edward explained, fixing the light behind a set of lenses.

When flicked on, the light created a fairly concentrated point, but Edward clicked his tongue in annoyance.

"You said something about mirrors," Alfons offered, trying to remember Edward's exact words. "And stimulating the photons. I don't think that a few lenses is going to do the trick."

Frowning, Edward pressed his fist to his mouth. "If I only knew exactly what it was I was aiming for… stimulating photons? How the fuck do you stimulate photons? And where would the mirrors come into it?" He shook his head.

Alfons looked around at the cabinets arrayed with lenses, prisms, and various other paraphernalia. "You said something about colored light," he mentioned, feeling rather useless. He didn't really know much about optics.

"Right!" Edward snapped his fingers. "How could I have forgotten that? Of course it would be much easier to focus light if it's monochromatic…" Stepping over to the shelves, he picked out a piece of colored glass, and contemplated it. "Are you sure I didn't say anything about lenses?" he mused, more to himself than to Alfons. "No…the light should be focused _within_ the…within the whatever." Edward started rummaging busily among the piled materials.

"Can I help?" Alfons offered.

Shaking his head, Edward didn't turn around. "Nah, I'll know what it is when I find it."

Did Edward even have permission to experiment here? Alfons wondered, not sure he really wanted to know the answer. He hung around for a little bit longer, then finally bid Edward a half-hearted farewell.

Edward barely noticed him go.

* * *

"Edward!" Alfons chased after his friend through the university halls. Edward tried to pretend that he hadn't noticed, but finally gave in and waited for Alfons, looking rather guilty. 

"Hey," he said, attempting nonchalance.

Alfons crossed his arms over his chest. "So this is where you've been hiding out? You weren't at the warehouse yesterday."

"I'm not _hiding_," Edward said, avoiding his eyes. "I'm looking up stuff."

Pacing beside Edward, Alfons didn't allow him to escape. "Our funding and pay is dependent on our work! You've been skipping out on us."

Edward shrugged, and Alfons' lips thinned in annoyance. Ever since Edward had come up with his ideas about light waves, his interest in rocketry was dwindling fast.

"Did you know that in America, Alexander Graham Bell invented a telephone that transmits sound with light waves?" Edward asked, an edge of excitement in his voice.

Excitement that, previously, Alfons had associated with rocket work. With a sort of sinking feeling, he realized that Edward might have never loved the idea of space as much as he did, and that Edward's energy and excitement came solely from the prospect of finding a way home. Firmly, he pushed the irrelevant thought away.

"That's no excuse for you to shirk your responsibilities," Alfons retorted flatly, and felt a bit vindicated at the slight look of abashment on Edward's face.

Adopting his classic Guilty Pose, Edward had both hands deep in his coat pockets, and stared at the floor as he walked slightly hunched over.

"Sorry," Edward mumbled. "I'll try to do better…"

They walked in silence for a few minutes, Alfons just tagging along with Edward to whatever lecture he was heading for, trying to suppress the cough that seemed intent on clawing its way out of his chest. Abruptly Alfons doubled over coughing, and Edward looked at him worriedly. "Are you alright?" Edward asked. Unable to speak for coughing, Alfons just managed a nod.

Finally the spell left him, and he straightened up and managed a watery smile at Edward, keeping his hand tightly clenched and out of sight so the flecks of blood wouldn't be noticeable. "So?" He deliberately changed the subject. "Will I see you after this lecture?"

The man shuffled in place guiltily, and finally nodded. "I promise I'll come straight back."

Well, that was good enough for now. "I'll see you later, then," Alfons said, and turned to leave.

Edward watched him for a few more minutes, an unhappy, disturbed look on his face.

-

Making his way home, Alfons couldn't help but wonder if he was losing Edward. Had they only been thrown together randomly, as a result of their research? If science was truly Edward's first love, how could he ever hope to compete with that?

And, Alfons thought miserably, even if he wanted to fight for Edward, how was he supposed to go about it? If Edward didn't care enough to come home to him, what could he possibly do?

Of course, everything was temporary, anyway. They weren't meant to be together for long - the only question was whether he would die before Edward found his way home.

Alfons forcefully pushed those thoughts out of his mind. There was no point in dwelling on it. He might as well get started on dinner, and have it ready when Edward came back, in the hopes he could coax Edward to actually eat it while it was still hot.

* * *

Edward was oddly subdued at dinner, and occasionally shot Alfons contemplative looks, though he didn't say anything. It was only a matter of time, Alfons knew. This was standard behavior for Edward when something was bothering him. He'd get around to whatever it was at some point or other.

Meanwhile, Alfons decided to use the opportunity to bring up some of what had been bothering him a lot lately. "Edward," he began, catching his attention. "I don't think you're being quite fair to…well, to any of us, really."

Despite the fact that Alfons hadn't yet explained himself, Edward already looked guilty, as if sure that whatever accusation Alfons was going to level at him was perfectly legitimate. That bothered Alfons somewhere deep down, but now wasn't the time to address the issue.

"Look, if you want out of the rocketry team, just _say_ so!" Alfons said, frustrated. "Because the way you're playing around now is –"

"I'm _not_ playing around!" Edward interrupted. "I _do_ pull my weight, or have you not noticed that everybody seems to treat me as their own personal slide rule, in addition to the fact that I'm practically single-handedly developing the fuels?"

For Edward 'dodging the subject' was practically an art form, and Alfons seemed to be particularly susceptible to being derailed. "You never complained about doing calculations for everybody!" He paused, realizing this was entirely the wrong tangent to pursue, and got back to the original problem. "And that has absolutely nothing to do with the fact that it's been practically _weeks_ since you've shown your face around the rocket labs!"

Food forgotten, both of them scowled at each other across the table.

"I'm just as entitled to independent research about something that's _important to me_ as anybody!" Edward snapped, gesturing with his fork.

Unable to keep the unhappiness out of his voice, Alfons' reply was more a plea than an accusation. "Don't you like rockets anymore?"

Taken aback, Edward aborted whatever it was he had been about to say, instead stammering, "I…it's not that…." He chewed on his fork pensively for a second, and Alfons was about to press his advantage when Edward, his expression suddenly changing, burst out– "Alfons, you know, I've been really worried about you. Winter's already over, and your cough isn't getting any better. Are you sure… I mean, maybe you should go to a doctor?"

Breath almost stolen at the abrupt change in direction, Alfons just gaped at Edward, as the realization of what Edward had just said slowly seeped into his consciousness. Forgetting completely their earlier argument, a horrible realization was starting to crystallize in his thoughts. For the first time in his life, he thought he understood the phrase 'his blood froze in his veins'. It _couldn't _be, he thought frantically. Edward _had _to know. True, he had never told anyone - he couldn't afford a good sanatorium, and he didn't want to be a complete outcast, and it wasn't _that _contagious yet, but Edward was _living _with him. It should be glaringly obvious to _anybody!_

"I… I know what I have," Alfons stammered, his heart pounding unpleasantly. "I thought..." he swallowed dryly. "It's consumption," he finally managed, and prayed for recognition to appear on Edward's face. "Tuberculosis."

But God must not have been on his side, because Edward just looked innocently puzzled, and shook his head.

"Doesn't ring a bell," Edward said noncommittally. "Is that bad?"

_Shit. _The thought of lying never even crossed his mind. "It's usually fatal," Alfons said hoarsely. The blood drained from Edward's face, and Alfons looked away, tormented by guilt. "It's also contagious," he forced himself to say. "I swear, Edward, I thought you knew! I thought you weren't afraid of catching it, because you're from another world! I'm sorry!" he cried desperately.

Edward just sat there, drawn and pale, and Alfons didn't know what to do. If Edward hadn't known... that meant maybe he _could _catch it.

"So…let me get this straight," Edward finally said in a strangled voice. "You've got this fatal disease, and it's contagious, and now maybe I have it, and _you never thought to tell me_?!"

_"Everybody _knows about consumption," Alfons said miserably. "I never thought... I swear I wasn't trying to keep anything from you! I just... I..."

"You _bastard_ …" Edward was staring at him, a horrified look of betrayal on his face. "_What the hell were you thinking?_" he finally yelled, and Alfons flinched again.

"I couldn't tell-"

"Shut the fuck up." But now Edward was turning away from him, a dazed look on his face. There was nothing Alfons could say, and he just sat with his head bowed until he heard the front door slam.

The very real possibility that he might end up responsible for Edward's death took hold of his mind. For the first time in his life, Alfons wished the malady would just get _on _with it and kill him. Better be gone than have Edward - _his _Edward, who loved him, or at least _had _- die of the disease.

Self-pity abruptly joined the mix, as Alfons remembered his mother dying for the very same reason. His entire family had gone, yet somehow, with Edward he had felt less lonely. Was this to be his punishment for indulging in sin, the knowledge that he had doomed Edward to a slow and painful death?

Maybe Edward hadn't caught it yet, Alfons prayed. If he left him now, maybe Edward would be safe. He didn't know where he would go, but he wasn't going to risk Edward any further. A lump rose in his throat as he realized he would never hold Edward again, never kiss or touch him, but Alfons forced the thought away, instead imagining Edward pale and gaunt from disease, coughing up blood.

_No, _Alfons swore to himself. If it wasn't too late, he wouldn't let that happen. Never.

* * *

It came as no surprise that he saw neither hide nor hair of Edward for the next few days. On normal days Edward had a tendency to vanish, usually because he got so engrossed in pursuing some subject that he forgot about such mundane things as time. Alfons would never tell him that the absences left him worried. He didn't want to deal with the thought of Edward never coming back, like so many other people in his life.

Given what Edward had just found out, Alfons firmly told himself to give Edward four days at least before he allowed himself to get frantic. It was good that he had the time; he would have to steel himself to the thought of breaking it off with Edward, and dealing with the possibility that Edward might hate him.

Continuing work as usual was one of the most difficult things Alfons had ever tried. He would really have liked to spend a few days simply doing _nothing_, but he couldn't allow himself the luxury.

There was nothing he could tell himself to make the guilt go away; he _deserved _this. But somehow, it was hard to continue feeling guilty when he felt so ill. He had been coughing up flecks of blood for a few weeks, but now it seemed like he could taste blood in his mouth all the time.

He thought he had gotten used to the idea of dying, but as the days passed, and the reality became all the more imminent, he realized that he truly didn't know what to do.

The silence in the apartment drove him insane, and Alfons found himself more often than not just staring at the empty walls, and thinking about how many things he hadn't done yet.

* * *

One afternoon, a week and a day since Edward had vanished (no, he wasn't counting the days, he just happened to know) he found evidence that Edward had been in. The chairs sat haphazardly around the kitchen, and some money was missing from the jar where they kept their loose change. Happily, it meant that Edward was safe. The downside was that Edward had definitely taken enough for train tickets.

For possibly the first time in his life, Alfons felt panicked tears well up in his eyes. Edward was the only one who knew what he was going through, and Edward had left him. He slumped down in a chair listlessly, and tried desperately not to sob, because he didn't have the breath for it. After a few minutes of fighting it, he could already feel the thickness in his throat, the cough that begged to be released, but Alfons knew that the moment he started he wouldn't be able to stop.

Well, Alfons thought morbidly, at least he had a first hand account of dying. Edward had told him once, ages ago when Alfons had always tried to get Edward to shut up with his crazy stories, what it felt like.

_Hey, Alfons, do you know that I died once? _Edward had grinned at him slightly unpleasantly. _It really sucks, you know. You've got this moment when your heart stops, but your brain is still working – do you know what it's like to realize your heart isn't beating, and there's nothing you can do about it? Of course, then your brain goes. And it really, really hurts-_

_Shut up, _Alfons had said. _That's just sick. _

Now Alfons wished that Edward had never said anything, because it would have been much nicer to believe that death was just a painless slipping away.

* * *

Alfons couldn't remember a time when Edward had been absent for so long. It was already scraping two weeks, and not a sign of him. He comforted himself with the thought that Edward wasn't the type to just run off... he hoped. Well, given how much Edward detested his father for disappearing on them, it stood to reason that he would get _some _sort of sign, if only a curt 'goodbye'.

Hell, even if Edward just returned to punch him in the face, Alfons would be grateful, but he knew he didn't deserve even that.

After all, Edward might die because of him. What kind of disgusting person did that to someone they loved?

He told the others that Edward was suffering from ill health, and had gone to search out a doctor. Given the circumstances, it was probably close to the truth.

* * *

He frankly dreaded returning to the apartment. Frau Gracia was wonderful, of course, offering him dinner and company, but the rest of the time the silence was oppressive. Since there was no reason to hurry home, he had taken to lagging behind at work, hoping exhaust himself sufficiently so he could go to bed soon after arriving home.

Even drinking with the boys no longer held much attraction for him.

For the first time in a long time, Alfons realized he was truly alone, and the thought frightened him. He had always had friends, always been close with other university students and the others working on the rockets. But suddenly he realized that he was alone and in trouble, and there was nobody he could turn to. He hadn't even noticed how much Edward had taken over his life until Edward was gone.

What he desperately needed was someone who would just tell him that everything would be alright, but there was nobody.

More than anything, he needed Edward to show up alive, so maybe his nightmares of a broken, sickly Edward coughing blood would go away. And in every nightmare, Edward blamed him.

Alfons forced himself to continue onward, and quietly started wondering how he would make preparations for his death. He would have to write to his cousins in Lienz, his hometown. Alfons felt a sudden pang that he probably wouldn't get to see them again. When was the last time he had visited? Around last year, a while after the war, when he had gone to help with getting everything working again.

Most of all, the guilt ate at him. When he died, his things would probably have to be burned, if people knew he was a consumptive. And he was contagious, a constant walking risk, but he couldn't bring himself to stay locked in his room.

It was his _life_, dammit, he deserved to live out whatever time he had left in the sun.

* * *

At two weeks and three days, he felt oddly unfocused. Random thoughts spun through his head, and he made no effort to control them. Midmorning he found himself standing over a rocket chassis, trying to calculate if he could afford a marble gravestone.

When Dorochett shook him slightly, looking concerned, Alfons just smiled, and said, "You know, I'd like to see a rainbow again. I haven't seen one in a while."

Everybody worried about him, but the one whose worry he wanted the most wasn't there.

* * *

It was late in the evening when he entered the house to the familiar emptiness. As happened every day, his heart sank a little when he realized that Edward wasn't back yet.

Listlessness had taken over him. Some days he hardly had enough energy to make himself any food. Why bother, if he was dying anyway?

A cough bubbled up, and Alfons just dropped his coat on a chair and doubled over, not even bothering to fight it anymore. Tears started in his eyes as his body racked with the spasms, and he found himself sinking to his knees.

His mouth tasted of blood, now leaking out, saliva dripping out the corners, and Alfons still couldn't stop. The world had ceased to exist for him; nothing mattered except for the cloying blockage in his lungs that no amount of coughing could release.

He was starting to feel dizzy. His throat and lungs were screaming at him, and Alfons clamped one hand over his mouth in an attempt to stop the coughing.

Was it possible for a person to cough themselves to death? Alfons wondered vaguely. Another spasm shook him, and Alfons brought up more blood, spotting his hand, but finally he felt some relief. The coughing died down a bit, leaving Alfons gasping for breath on the floor, staring morbidly at his crimson-spotted hand.

Then, suddenly, amongst the viscous, dark blood, he saw _it_, something moving against his red-spotted skin. Horror swamped his mind, and blind, animal panic took over his brain as he tried to make sense of what was happening to him. His entire body shook with reaction, but he couldn't even muster the strength to shake it off of his hand.

_It can't be... _

There was a scream building up somewhere inside him, begging for release, but Alfons didn't have the breath even for that.


	14. A Fluke

**ATTENTION**: credit for this chapter and the research done for it goes to Dr. Meirav Mor, an infectious disease specialist, who dug up the information I needed in order to write this. I will also warn that this chapter contains, well, sick people being sick. That said, I will stop talking now, and let you all get on with reading. (I just want to say that this is one of my favorite plot devices in the entire story XD)

* * *

Alfons stared at his hand, which was sticky with dark blood. Suddenly he felt an odd movement, as if something was squirming against his fingers. There, coated in red, was a fleck of almost-brown, and _it was moving_. 

His breath came in panicked gasps as he finally realized what he was seeing.

Frantically he shook his hand until the thing dropped off, and he stared at it, wriggling slightly on the floorboards.

_Oh God ohGodohGod-_

There was a worm on the floor, a small reddish-brown worm, and bloody hell, _that worm had come from inside of him_-

Unable to resist any longer, Alfons found himself curled over, and heaving the contents of his stomach out onto the floor. His mind was a haze of panic, and he couldn't stop the retching, desperately trying to purge himself of _whatever _was living inside his body.

He gagged and vomited until there was nothing left to bring up anymore, and he was choking on air and spit, but the nausea still raged inside of him, because the worm was still lying there among drops of his blood.

What was he supposed to do? What was wrong with him? The thoughts spun madly through his head. What did it mean, that he was being eaten by worms, as if he were dead, but he was still _alive-_

Alfons gagged again, clenching his fists, his head hanging helplessly. The stench was doing nothing for his stomach, reigniting the nausea every time he thought he might finally get it under control.

He had to get away from here.

Mustering all his will, Alfons pushed himself up slightly, only to find a pair of black shoes in front of his face. Freezing in horror, he honestly didn't know what to do, his mind reeling, and he prepared himself for the possibility of more pain.

Edward just knelt down, resting a hand on his shoulder, and looked at him in worry.

"Alfons?" he asked uncertainly.

At the sound of his voice, Alfons surged up, fisting both his hands in Edward's shirt, heedless of the fact that he was getting his clothes dirty. To his credit, Edward didn't even flinch away from the filth.

"T-That….it was in-inside me!" Alfons gasped out. "It's…it's…"

"Sssh." Edward wrapped an arm around Alfons, and helped tug him to his feet.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up."

"But…I…_they're eating me_!" Alfons wailed, practically hysterical. Edward just held on to him firmly, tugging him in the direction of the bathroom. Alfons felt so weak, he could barely make his legs move, and another glance at the mess on the floor made him double over retching.

"Stop looking at it, already!" Edward hissed, jerking his head away none-too-gently.

Everything was a blur, but through it all Edward was strong and firm, murmuring comforting nonsense, or maybe it was curses, Alfons wasn't sure. Something had knocked the floor out from under him, and the world was spinning, and Alfons desperately wanted to make it stop but didn't know how.

Abruptly he found himself sitting in the tub, still wearing all his clothes, and Edward turned on the faucet.

"You came back," he found himself mumbling, his breath gradually returning to normal, and Edward just shook his head.

The water turned warm, and Edward brought a pot from the kitchen to fill with water and dump over Alfons' head, rinsing the blood and vomit off.

Alfons just sat in the bathtub, slumped over, unable to stop the quivering in his muscles, as the warm water washed over him, slowly calming him.

"Come on, stupid. We're going to take off your clothes." Edward pushed him back a little, so he was leaning against the side of the tub, and started pulling at his buttons.

Alfons watched him listlessly, unable to muster the energy to even help out, but content to lie back and let Edward take care of him. Edward manhandled him gently, pushing him forward to pull the shirt off of him, though the water made it cling to his skin.

"Alfons, look at me," Edward said. Alfons managed to roll his head to the side, and couldn't help the tears that rose to his eyes at the sight of his lover.

Edward was dirty, his clothes and skin spotted with Alfons' mess, but he wasn't turning away, seeming almost oblivious to what would have had almost anybody else retching, and panic rose to clog Alfons' throat. _The blood, Edward had to get the blood off of him-_

"I'm sorry," he gasped, and Edward looked taken aback. "I don't want you to die, Edward, I swear I didn't mean it."

"Alfons-"

"- And now you're going to have to leave, because you can't stay with me, and God, I missed you –"

He was babbling helplessly, and finally Edward reached in and shook him until the torrent of words ceased and he was left looking up at Edward vulnerably, silent.

"I don't have it," Edward said, focusing his gaze intently on Alfons.

Hardly daring to believe, Alfons searched for duplicity, but found none.

"I got tested, and I'm clean."

A hysterical laugh bubbled up from inside of him, fueled by sheer relief. Edward would live. All he had to do was get away from him, but that was okay, he didn't mind, as long as Edward was safe. He wouldn't have Edward's death on his head.

"Sheesh." Edward muttered, and tugged on Alfons' arm. "Come on, get out, I can't pull you up."

Alfons allowed himself to be pulled up, and threw his arms around Edward, burying his face in Edward's neck.

"Ack, Alfons, I just cleaned you off!"

"I thought you wouldn't come back," Alfons mumbled into his neck, and damn, had he ever told Edward how much it meant to him, that even when he could barely stand, Edward was strong enough to hold him up?

The water ran off of him in little rivulets, pooling on the floor, and his pants sagged with its weight.

"Let go, you're getting me all wet," Edward complained half-heartedly, his hands working at the fastening of Alfons' pants. Alfons just stood, his arms slung around Edward's neck, and his face against Edward's shoulder, allowing himself to be stripped.

"Hell," Edward muttered. "I can't dry you off when you're clinging to me." He tried to pry Alfons' arms away, but Alfons wouldn't let him.

Once he let go, he wouldn't allow himself to hold Edward again. He wouldn't put the man at risk again, but he just couldn't bring himself to let go.

Edward had meanwhile grabbed a towel, and was awkwardly trying to dry Alfons off as much as possible. The roughness of the towel felt good on him, and the drying forced Edward to wrap his arms around Alfons' back, and run his hands up in his hair and down against his legs and buttocks, maybe for the last time.

Abruptly the image of the blood, the worm, swam into Alfons' mind, and he gagged again, suppressing a whimper.

Edward stroked his hair. "Quit thinking about it."

"I can't!" Alfons gasped.

"I'll kick your ass," Edward snapped, making Alfons laugh helplessly. "Come on, I'm putting you to bed." Deftly wrapping the towel around Alfons' waist and securing it, Edward led Alfons slowly out of the bathroom, while Alfons tried desperately to keep thoughts of worms firmly out of his head, and thoughts of Edward kicking his ass in it.

The walk from the bathroom to their room had never seemed so long to him. Finally they reached the bed, and Edward managed to disentangle Alfons' arms, despite his protests, and lay him down.

"I'm going to die," Alfons whispered sadly, looking up at Edward, who seemed a lot older than he had ever thought. Edward pulled the blankets up, tucking them under Alfons' chin, and sat down next to him.

"Listen, Alfons," Edward said, running the backs of his fingers down Alfons' cheek. "I'm going to go clean up, okay? I want you to try to sleep. You need to rest."

Alfons leaned his head into Edward's hand. His fingers were warm, with a hint of wetness. They smelled sour, but Alfons didn't care. "Why doesn't this bother you?" he mumbled, slightly petulantly.

"Moron, would it make it any easier on you if I was gagging, too?" Edward asked, raising an eyebrow. "I've seen loads of shit in my life. Now close your eyes."

With a heavy sigh that twinged his lungs, Alfons closed his eyes, and tried to relax. He liked the feeling of lying down peacefully, with Edward to watch over him.

Against his will, he slowly drifted off into exhausted sleep.

* * *

When Alfons awoke, it was nearly dark out. He had one blissful moment of oblivion, and then reality crashed back down on him. Staring at the ceiling sadly, he wondered what he would do with himself in the time he had left. He didn't want to waste it, but he couldn't bring himself to get up and _do_ anything. 

And what was the point, really, when he couldn't even touch Edward anymore?

It was so exhausting to be sick all the time, he thought as he tried to take another breath. So tiring to get up in the morning every day, knowing that his lungs would ache, that there were so many things he could never do. Sometimes just plastering a smile on his face made him tired.

He didn't know how long he lay there in silence, just breathing, feeling the walls closing in, until the door opened, letting a square of light in onto the floor.

"Alfons?" Edward said softly, a dark silhouette blocking out the light. "Are you awake?"

"Yeah," Alfons sighed. Edward immediately turned on the light, making Alfons cover his eyes and curse at the brightness.

Edward strode over and stood next to the bed, arms crossed, and an expression on his face which couldn't decide whether it was exasperated or just plain angry.

Alfons noted absently that Edward had gotten around to changing out of his dirty clothes at some point.

"You're such a fucking moron," Edward told him, shaking his head. Alfons flinched slightly at the harsh tone. He knew he deserved it, but some small part of his mind had hoped that Edward would somehow forgive him.

"Did you ever actually go see a fucking doctor?" Edward snapped at him, and Alfons suddenly felt at an abrupt disadvantage lying down on the bed, and pushed himself into a sitting position.

"Yes!" Alfons said defensively. "I _did_. And he listened to my lungs, and said I had consumption!" He didn't have words to describe the feeling as that death sentence descended upon him, the fear of stigma if people knew he had the disease, the knowledge that he would never be able to afford a sanatorium.

Edward sighed, covering his face with one hand, the fury practically radiating off of him. "Holy shit, I don't know whether to be pissed off or feel sorry for you."

Alfons yelped when Edward grabbed his shoulders in a grip that would surely leave bruises and dragged him up, practically shouting, "Remember when I told you that I didn't have tuberculosis?"

Terrified, Alfons just nodded, not even daring to look away.

"_You stupid fucker, you don't have it either_!"

Alfons just stared at Edward in shock, unable to process the words. "W-what?" he stammered weakly.

Letting go of his shoulders, Edward turned away, taking a few steps, then stopping, fists clenched. "You're not going to die," Edward said. "Mother of God, I don't think I've ever encountered a stupider specimen of human being."

"But I have-"

"_Consumptives don't fucking cough up worms, asshole_!"

Alfons recoiled, not even sure what to believe anymore, not even daring to acknowledge the tiny hope inside of him, but unable to deny Edward's logic. After all, worms –

He gagged at the mere thought, and Edward _thwapped_ him roughly on the head.

"Fucking get over yourself," Edward snapped, and turned away. "I took the worm to a doctor; he said you have some sort of parasite. He'll see you first thing tomorrow."

With a few angry steps he exited the room, slamming the door behind him.

* * *

"Well," Doctor Heller said, "The good news is, I can confirm that you are indeed not suffering from tuberculosis." 

Alfons just stared up at him from his seat, wide eyed, not knowing what to think. His entire perception of the world had been upended in one short sentence.

"However, you appear to have paragonimiasis, or lung flukes," the doctor continued. "The good news is that they aren't fatal."

Edward snorted from his corner, and Alfons couldn't even muster up annoyance, he was so busy trying to fight panic. "There are _worms_ in my lungs?" he asked, his voice coming out rather squeaky.

Nonchalantly, the doctor started putting away his instruments. "They live in little cysts in your lungs, so they're not exactly crawling around, but yes."

"That's disgusting," Edward commented.

"_Thank you_ for sharing that," Alfons muttered, fighting another burst of nausea at the thought of worms crawling around his innards. "But…you can do something about it, right?" he looked up at the doctor pleadingly.

Doctor Heller shook his head sympathetically. "I'm afraid there's no known cure. But like I said, it's not fatal, and it's not contagious either."

Edward let out what sounded suspiciously like a sigh of relief, and Alfons felt a pang.

"So how did I get it?"

"You probably contracted it sometime during or right after the war, from contaminated food."

Alfons shuddered, imagining that he could actually feel something crawling around inside him. "But…my cough has been getting worse!" he protested. "And…I went to a doctor, and he said I had tuberculosis!"

The doctor sighed. "The symptoms of paragonimiasis can be easily confused with tuberculosis. Considering that lung flukes are extremely uncommon in humans, the misdiagnosis was a regrettable, if rather understandable, mistake." He seemed mildly embarrassed in the name of doctors everywhere. "As for your cough, this is probably as bad as it's ever going to get," Doctor Heller reassured him. "But there's a high chance that your cough is partially psychosomatic; you need to break the habit of coughing. I can give you a syrup that will help."

Still trying to digest the information, Alfons cast the doctor one last pleading look. "And you're sure there's nothing…?"

The doctor shook his head.

* * *

They walked home silently through the streets. Alfons felt a dizzy sort of euphoria, because he _wasn't going to die_, but at the same time he was immensely disoriented. Honestly, he had lived with consumption as a fact of life for so long, that he didn't quite know what to do without it. 

Equally overwhelming was the knowledge that he _didn't_ have to break it off with Edward, but he had to contemplate the fact that Edward might no longer _want_ to be with him.

And permeating every thought was a sneaking embarrassment over the fact that he had turned out a fool.

Edward strode beside him, not leaving him behind, but not making any friendly overtures either. The doctor's information didn't seem to have mollified him very much.

All in all, it was one of the most uncomfortable walks in Alfons' experience, and he was quite thankful when they reached Gracia's.

She tried to make conversation, but Edward brushed her off, and Alfons apologized quickly, before following him upstairs.

The door clicked shut behind him, and Alfons braced himself for the explosion.

Edward didn't disappoint. He whirled on Alfons, fists clenched, and a snarl on his face.

"If you weren't sick, I swear, I would beat you bloody," he snapped.

For once, Alfons almost wished that Edward _would_ pound on him. Had Edward been able to lash out at him, the whole thing would probably have blown over eventually, after a few bouts of 'friendly' fighting. But without an outlet….

"Please, explain it, because I don't fucking understand. _Why would you do that to me_?" Beneath the fury, Alfons could clearly hear Edward's pain, which only made him feel worse.

He tried to collect as much of his wits that he could, to formulate an answer. "Edward, please believe me when I say that I never meant to hurt you."

"Fucking lot of good that would do me, if you actually had consumption," Edward muttered snidely.

"You don't know what it's like!" Alfons burst out. "At first I didn't say anything, because I didn't think about it. It's not like I go around contemplating the stupid disease all day! After a while, you just get used to your lungs hurting.

"I've been hiding the condition for so long, I guess…I guess it was just natural for me to try and hide it from you, too."

Edward was still furious, but at least he was _listening_, his eyes locked intently on Alfons'. For a wild moment, Alfons wondered if maybe Edward wasn't looking for a reason to forgive him, and that made his determination all the stronger.

"If people knew I had consumption, I would never be able to build rockets. I thought I was dying; I just wanted to do one last thing before I was gone! And I thought…you said once that you were less susceptible to diseases here." Alfons shook his head bitterly. "I thought that you knew I was consumptive, and that that was your way of telling me it was okay." The burning intensity in Edward's eyes was too much for him, and he finally dropped his gaze to the floor.

"And you're right," he forced himself to continue, "It was stupid. I didn't want to lose you, so I rationalized. It's pure luck that things worked out the way they did, and that you're not in danger."

"Shit." Edward ran his fingers through his bangs, eyebrows pulled together. "You're so fucking lucky, Alfons, you don't even know."

"I'm sorry," Alfons whispered, desperately wanting to hug Edward but knowing he would get rebuffed.

"Any other fucking secrets you haven't told me that might be potentially lethal?" Edward demanded sarcastically.

Alfons shook his head mutely in answer. "I could try and arrange something, if you really want me to," he added weakly, trying for humor.

"Not funny." Edward scowled. "And even if it was, I wouldn't be laughing."

Oh.

Edward turned away, heading for the bookshelves, but paused. "Though I suppose I might…later."

Alfons' heart lifted. He would be forgiven...eventually.

* * *

A good sign seemed to be that that night Edward consented to stay in Alfons' bed. He claimed that it was because the mattress in his room sucked, and informed Alfons that he wasn't going to put up with a crappy mattress just because Alfons was a prick. 

Likewise, Edward continued to let Alfons shave him, under the pretext that it was stupid to waste money on something so trivial, and that Alfons' hands were quite steady, despite his severe lackings in the intelligence department.

Things didn't improve much over the next few days. Edward managed to be unpleasant in a whole host of ways, rather surprising Alfons with his vindictiveness.

Most things he put up with, like the frequent references to his lack of mental capacities, but some things made him pause and wonder how much he would be expected to bear in the name of penance.

In his opinion, Edward refusing to wash his silverware because "the doctor said there are worm eggs in your spit. That's just nasty," was _way_ below the belt. Alfons had gagged at the thought, and spent the next hour brushing his teeth obsessively. At least Edward had looked mildly contrite after that one, and had let up on him for the rest of the day.

Alfons lay awake that night, Edward a warm, untouchable presence next to him, and tried to fight the sudden fear that Edward's words reflected a true revulsion. Edward had put up a stoic front when confronted with the disease, but what if underneath it all he was truly disgusted? And the real problem was that if he _was_, Alfons couldn't really blame him.

* * *

It was barely more than a week after the visit to the doctor when Alfons felt things were starting to go back to normal. Maybe Edward wasn't quite so mad as Alfons had feared, because he knew for a fact that Edward was certainly capable of holding a grudge when he felt the situation warranted it, given his frequent disparaging remarks about his father and former military commander. 

Friendliness had started to sneak back into their interactions, whether it was Edward offering to arrange dinner, or sitting and discussing a diagram together. In a sense, Alfons was reminded forcibly of their tentative friendship before they had gotten together – and his original desire for _more_ was only reinforced.

Alfons went back to 'playing' with Edward; letting his fingers linger a moment against Edward's whenever he handed him something, finding excuses to rest a hand on his shoulder or brush up against him. Edward allowed him that, and even seemed rather welcoming of Alfons' attempts to bridge the gap between them.

But Alfons still couldn't touch the mistrust he saw lingering whenever Edward looked at him, and it continued to be a barrier he was incapable of breaching.

* * *

At night, Alfons slowly inched his way closer to Edward, first sleeping so their shoulders rubbed together, then going so far as to rest his fingers lightly on Edward's hip. It was three full weeks since the visit to the doctor when Alfons finally decided to try and take things a bit further. 

Edward lay on his side, his back firmly towards Alfons. Carefully, Alfons scooted over on the bed, rolling onto his side as well, and draped his arm over Edward's waist. His heart pounded furiously for what seemed like an eternity, while he wondered if Edward was going to throw him off. Edward turned his head, meeting Alfons' eyes for a long moment before dropping his gaze.

"I really am sorry," Alfons whispered, propping himself up on his elbow, the better to see Edward's face.

Edward shifted under Alfons' arm, and he nearly snatched it away – but Edward just rolled over onto his back, looking up at him with a wry smile. "…I guess everyone makes really stupid mistakes, sometimes," he said, and Alfons could barely keep the relieved grin off of his face.

Raising his right arm, Edward ran the tips of his fingers over Alfons' forearm, raising goosebumps. Alfons leaned down to press an exuberant kiss to Edward's mouth, a kiss which Edward at first returned willingly, but pulled away from before Alfons could deepen it.

Hurt, Alfons tried to form a question, but Edward pushed his head down imperatively, tilting his own head back and baring his neck. Obediently, Alfons sucked, and tried to convince himself that Edward had just wanted more action, and that this had nothing to do with the worms or their eggs. Considering that Edward normally liked kissing very much, the self-deception was failing miserably.

Alfons lifted his head, trying to meet Edward's eyes. "I just brushed my teeth," he pleaded softly.

Edward shot him a look of feigned confusion. "What's that got to do with anything?" he asked gruffly, trying to distract Alfons with his clever fingers.

One last pleading look was directed at Edward, only to be ignored, and Alfons gave in to Edward's insistent hands.

* * *

Edward never did kiss him properly that night, but Alfons contented himself with the fact that he was sleeping intertwined with Edward once again, and that, despite the lingering doubts and mistrust, he was mostly forgiven. 

But what was the use of that forgiveness? Alfons wondered morbidly to himself. After all, if Edward had never known about his disease… that meant that Edward had truly never meant to stay with him. From the beginning, Edward must have been intending to walk away from their relationship.

And he had always _known_ that Edward was going to leave, always known that Edward wouldn't exactly consider himself 'in love', but he had never considered that he himself would be the one to strain their bond to the point where the separation would be practically effortless for Edward.

He had thought he had understood that their relationship was only temporary, always temporary, but now with his life stretched emptily ahead of him, Alfons realized that what he wanted was….

Firmly, he quashed the useless thought and snuggled closer to Edward. If Edward had always meant to leave anyway, that meant Alfons hadn't had a chance in the first place.

Dimly, he remembered Edward's conviction that he would end up hurting Alfons, and forced himself to be comforted by the fact that some part of Edward _did_ regret what he knew must happen.


	15. Captives in Alfheim

Sorry for the slightly longer waits now...it's just that when you have chapters dealing with...stuff, then it takes longer to write, and longer to beta, and longer to fix up the things the beta pointed out... but! I still love you all, and here we are!  
And, just because probably nobody pays attention to the chapter names, I'm going to point out that this chapter is called "**Captives in Alfheim**". I'm pointing this out because it took me a long time to come up with something so symbolic and pretentious. :)

* * *

The scare was over, but things could never go back to the way they had been. His attention and energy now almost fully consumed by the light waves, Edward continued to play hooky on and off, sometimes putting in hours on the rockets, but spending other days at the optics and chemistry labs.

As for Alfons, his zeal and determination only grew with the knowledge that he was no longer doomed to death. Suddenly his dream turned from a far-off possibility into what might become a very solid reality. He had the freedom, and more importantly, the _time_, to pursue his dreams to completion.

Maybe because of this sudden onslaught of time, Alfons found himself enjoying life in a way that he never had before. Perfecting the rockets was no longer an absolute immediacy.

So they wouldn't meet the deadline this month, so what? There was always next month, or maybe the month after that. They were still young, they had their whole lives ahead of them. Now was a time to celebrate the beauty of the world, the warmth of spring, the wonderful blue of the skies between rain showers, not be cooped up in a lab all day.

Needless to say, his teammates were not terribly enamored of this new policy of Alfons'.

The only great damper on his mood was the fact that he couldn't quite share his joy with Edward. Even though Alfons was ostensibly forgiven, he could feel something different about their interaction. The fact that he had betrayed Edward's trust continued to be felt between them, despite efforts on both their sides to bridge that gap.

For now, he was content to share in Edward's interests, be they rockets or otherwise, though it meant that me would be prone to dealing with everything from paroxysms of joy to outbursts of whining (though Edward always denied that he would do something so childish like actually _whine_, Alfons knew better).

"We can't do it." Edward slammed his hands down on the table, and in a fit of frustration threw all the sketches onto the floor.

"What?" Alfons looked up from the diagram he was studying. "What went wrong now?"

Every other week, Edward would storm and curse over some aspect of the plan; the light waves weren't cooperating, Alfons wasn't understanding alchemy fast enough, and sometimes, the weather.

Edward turned towards Alfons, and true despair was on his face, an emotion which Alfons really hadn't seen much of lately. This definitely wasn't just another minor obstacle.

"Things have been going fairly well, up until now," Alfons said encouragingly. "I'm sure we'll be able to figure this out. You've been doing wonderfully with those special light-waves of yours…" He no longer felt a pang when discussing them. No matter his scientific interests, _he_ was the one Edward came home to every night. That was enough for him.

"You don't understand!" Edward wailed, glowering as if it was all Alfons' fault. "Look," he picked up a sketch from the floor and brandished it in the German's face. "Just look at this!"

On the paper was a confusing jumble of lines, with mirrors, measurements, and hypothetical paths of light rays messily sketched out.

"Um." Alfons tried to make sense of the drawing, but always found it difficult to understand which lines were important, and which ones were just scribbles. Not to mention the chicken-scratch that passed for Edward's handwriting.

"It's going to be huge," Edward growled. "And this is just for the prototype. Who knows how many more we'll have to build before we can make an array with it?"

"But…it should work, right?"

Edward sighed, and looked sadly at the sketch, before turning unhappy eyes on Alfons. "Alfons, we're never going to be able to afford it."

* * *

Hours later Alfons still had no answer, though he desperately wished he could say something to cheer Edward up. No matter how he twisted it, this was an obstacle he had no idea how to overcome. Considering they could barely pay the rent as it was, how were they supposed to buy lengths of wire conductors, mirrors, gasses…not to mention, the massive amounts of electricity they would need, and the space to build the machines in.

Edward had barely moved from his position, head hanging low, and was doodling morosely on a scrap of paper.

Well, just because he couldn't think of a solution, didn't mean he couldn't find other ways to cheer his friend up. Resolutely, Alfons strode over to Ed and tugged on his arm.

"Come on. Moping isn't going to help. We're going to buy some dinner."

"We can't afford to buy dinner. And besides, I'm not hungry."

"Look, unless you can pull an oil well out of your back pocket, we're not solving the money problem tonight," Alfons said gently, and tugged on Edward's arm again.

This time, Edward allowed himself to be pulled up. "Back home, I would never be stuck for cash, all I had to do…" Edward pressed the palms of his hands together glumly. "I could've fucking _transmuted_ an oil well if we needed one!"

Alfons sighed, once again contemplating the possibilities. It wasn't fair that such a world existed, a world where if someone was _smart_ enough they would never starve.

But this world wasn't like that, and no amount of wishing would find them the cash they needed. Alfons opened his mouth to speak, but the look on Edward's face startled him out of what he was going to say.

"Atlas!" Edward grabbed his sleeve and stared at him wildly. "I need a map of the world. Do you have one?"

"Yeah, somewhere…" Alfons started rummaging on the bookshelves, but was soon elbowed aside by Edward. "Hey!"

"You're not quick enough. Look, it's right here," Edward pulled the book down, and started flipping through it, ignoring Alfons' frown.

Quickly, he located a world map. Edward stared at it for a minute, then grinned up at Alfons. "I knew it! Alfons, you're a genius." Edward threw one arm around Alfons' neck, and pulled him down for an enthusiastic kiss. The instinctive action sent a warm flush through Alfons, and he most definitely wasn't complaining, but he wasn't quite sure what he had done to warrant the title 'genius'. Though apparently it was something good, since Edward was happy again.

"I'm sure I am…what is it I've done?" He would make a note to do whatever-it-was more often, if it made Edward forget why he hadn't been kissing Alfons much lately.

"You know that I used to travel a lot with my brother, right?"

Alfons nodded; this was familiar territory.

"Well, I knew a lot about the geography of Amestris." Edward grinned. "I also knew a lot about the composition of the bedrock…useful to know, when you transmute the ground as often as I did."

Still waiting for the genius part to come in, Alfons nodded encouragingly.

Impatient, Edward continued quickly. "My world is _parallel_ to yours, Alfons! The geography is almost exactly the same, only mirrored." Edward shrugged, not even having to add, _just like me_. "Look," he pointed on the map. "This is where Amestris is, on my world." He moved his finger around, stabbing at several different places. "Coal veins. Iron ore. Gold."

"We…we can't _do_ that…" Alfons felt dizzy. A gold mine?

"What's to stop us? We'll go, dig up some gold, and-"

"Edward, that's practically on the other side of the world! It's a country! You can't just waltz into somebody else's country and start digging up the turf!" Alfons paused a moment, then continued. "Besides, do you know how many people want to emigrate to America right now? The chances of getting the papers are almost nil."

"But it _can_ be done," Edward said enthusiastically.

Nervously, Alfons tried to calm him down before he got too excited. "Look, Edward, America and Germany are not particularly friendly right now."

"Pfft, politics." Edward waved his hand in dismissal. A dull anger woke in Alfons' stomach at that. It _wasn't_ nothing. The Great War hadn't been _nothing_.

"And what about the rockets?"

Shrugging noncommittally, Edward said, "Once we have money, you'll be able to keep working on them. You won't have any of the funding problems we have now."

Alfons didn't like how Edward was taking himself out of the equation. For that matter, he just didn't like Edward's attitude _at all_. "The whole point is building rockets _in Germany_!" he snapped.

Looking almost surprised at his vehemence, Edward was speechless for a second. "What does it matter?" he finally asked. "Here, there, big deal."

"Just because you don't have a patriotic bone in your body doesn't mean we're all like that!" Alfons growled, his hands clenching into fists. "You think I'm going to betray my country –"

"You're turning this into one hell of a production!" Edward snapped back. "Going to America to find gold is hardly _betraying_ your country! You know what, fine, come back later, do whatever you want!"

"And you're making a whole lot of assumptions!" Alfons shouted. "You're building castles in the sky! What guarantee do you have of success? How can you possibly plan for 'later' when immigration is so difficult nowadays, and you don't even have papers yet?"

"We're scientists," Edward reasoned, "Usually countries _want _people like us."

"Edward, there _is_ no 'us'!" Alfons finally said. All traces of good humor had vanished, and now even the anger dropped abruptly off of Edward's face, and Alfons looked away from his friend's shock. "I'm sure you would get there, but I'm not going with you."

"But…Alfons, you said…you wanted to help me open the Gate, didn't you?"

Bewilderment was quickly being replaced by betrayal in Edward's voice.

Feeling wretched, Alfons tried to explain. "I _do_ want to help you. It's just…Look, I don't mind trying to figure out the arrays, or even spending all my spare time working with you on your light waves. It's even fun. But I can't go halfway across the world chasing…" _Shit._ Talk about foot in mouth!

"Is that all this is to you?" Edward practically shouted. "You think this is some silly _game_? Go ahead and say it- You won't go halfway across the world chasing some mad dream!"

"I just started _living_ again!" Alfons shouted back. "I finally have a chance to do what I always wanted! You think I want to run off and be remembered as a traitor and a crackpot?"

Edward flinched, suddenly vulnerable, and Alfons felt sick with himself for bringing it up, but he couldn't make the words stop coming. "You don't _care_ what happens here! All you care about is your world – and _fine, _I can accept that, it's _your world_. But don't expect other people to understand! Nobody else sees what you see!"

"I…I thought _you _did…"

Edward's voice was small and lost, and Alfons suddenly realized that he was taking the precious trust he had regained and flinging it right back in Edward's face. A disturbing thought intruded: Had _he _been the one to string Edward along, only to drop him when he was unnecessary?

But no, it was _Edward's_ choice to leave him behind, he thought with sudden anger. It wasn't fair that Edward pulled him along, and expected Alfons to follow him everywhere (just like his little brother, a part of his mind whispered nastily), and for what? Just so he could stand by smiling and watch Edward leave him without looking back, never to return?

"Alfons, you don't understand," Edward grabbed the front of his shirt and looked up into his eyes, "I _have _to go! I…I _can't_ stay here, I can't live here, I _hate this world_ so fucking much!"

Edward's broken golden eyes pleaded for understanding, but Alfons couldn't bring himself to be sympathetic. How was he _supposed_ to react, dammit, when his lover stood and told him, to his face, that he just _wasn't_ enough?

"Then _go_," Alfons pushed him away. "Go to America, go back to your world. Nobody's stopping you." His voice was harsh and bitter, bitter with anger at his own stupidity. He had _known _this day would come, the day when Edward would choose his own world over Alfons – he had known it would hurt.

He just hadn't known quite how _much._

"You bastard," Edward said bitterly, and slammed his fist into the table. "I don't…_fuck you_!" he spat, and looked at Alfons wildly. "_You _were the one who said we should be together! I told you it wasn't a good idea, but you wanted to _anyway_, and now you're…it's not _right_…"

Alfons purposely turned his back. He knew that if he looked at Edward much longer his resolve would crumble –and he couldn't afford to let that happen. For once, his mind needed to dictate his actions, not his heart. "It was your choice to go along with it," he said distantly. "You can't have everything in life."

"I should never have moved in with you," Edward snarled. "I should never have fucked you. I fucking wish I had never _met_ you."

Dimly, Alfons heard Edward stomp out of the flat and slam the door. Unsteadily, he sank down on the nearest chair and buried his head in his hands. It _hurt_ so damn much, to know that Edward regretted all the time they had spent together. Because even now, when he wanted to hate the man with every fiber of his being, Alfons couldn't help but think of how _happy_ he had been for the past months. Sharing his life with someone…especially someone as smart and different and ethereal as Edward. Someone so self-centered, and blind, yet who always tried to make Alfons happy….

And now it was over. Edward would leave, and Alfons would probably never hear from him again, never know whether Edward had found his paradise. It hurt so much, knowing that while he would keep on speculating about Edward, Edward would probably never think of him again. And that while he was wondering if it wouldn't be a good idea to get really drunk in order to drown the part of him that thought that crying might be a nice option right now, Edward was probably arranging his boat to America.

And not crying at all. Because the only person Edward ever cried over was his little brother.

---

The first thing Edward did was move back into his own room. Without so much as a word or look, he simply went back to sleeping alone. Sometimes, Alfons found himself on the verge of saying something stupid and girly and emotional, but the closed look on Edward's face stopped him every time.

Alfons tried to concentrate on his anger and betrayal. It was truly disgusting of Edward to care for him only as long as he cooperated, and toss him aside as soon as Alfons exhibited a will of his own.

But it was hard to stay angry when he could hear Edward whimpering at night, alone in his bed, and when the bottles of whisky migrated once again to Edward's room, in a desperate attempt to keep the nightmares at bay.

Alfons sometimes felt Edward's eyes following him about the room, and it gave him a harsh sort of pleasure to know that at least Edward wasn't succeeding to ignore him completely, that at least he owned that much of Edward's soul.

---

With a sort of morbid satisfaction, Alfons watched as Edward once again grew haggard and depressed. One morning he even went so far as to inquire nastily of an exhausted, groggy Edward how he had slept. Immediately, he felt abashed and disgusted with himself. But by the time he could screw up his courage to apologize, Edward was already out the door.

Yet his own nights were hardly better. More often than not he woke, flushed and wanting, from dreams of Edward, only to find his bed empty, and knowing that Edward was just down the hall from him, yet fully out of his reach.

Sometimes he dreamed of returning to a silent house, with all of Edward's things gone.

---

During the day, they avoided each other like the plague. Despite how careful they were to let no hint of their relationship leak out to the people around them, everyone had known they were friends. Now Alfons could feel the curious looks, as people speculated what they had fought about.

"Y'know, I was getting worried about you," Fritz said to Alfons one day during the lunch hour.

Alfons looked at him curiously.

"Well, you were awfully close with Elric. And, sure, he's a genius, but we all know he's sort of, you know…" he sketched a circle in the air with his finger, "Cuckoo."

"He's not…" Despite everything, Alfons felt obligated to come to Edward's defense.

"No offense," Fritz said quickly. "He's a great guy, I'm sure. But we were worried about you. Lately you've been…well, almost fairy-touched. You were getting the same weird look Elric always has, like you weren't quite there. Dreaming of a different world too, I suppose."

"Don't worry," Alfons said moodily. "I won't be vanishing off to anywhere in the near future."

---

The one thing Alfons didn't quite understand was why Edward hadn't left yet. He supposed the man was having trouble getting the appropriate papers, but he couldn't bring himself to inquire. He didn't want to know.

Finally, one day he came home to find the flat empty. It took him a moment, but then he registered the silence, the loneliness that hung almost-imperceptibly in the air.

Alfons practically ran to Edward's room, and then convinced himself he wasn't relieved when he saw Edward's stuff still there.

As the evening wore on, and Edward didn't show up, he grew worried. It didn't matter that he was still furious with Edward, but he didn't want the man mugged or anything.

And Edward had left the warehouse before him that day…

Midnight came and went, and Alfons finally left off his vigil and went to sleep, unnerved by the silence. Though he tried to fight it, his last thoughts before he fell asleep, were of worry over the man.

When Edward still hadn't shown up the next morning, Alfons began wondering whether he should call the police. Edward was out, somewhere, with almost nothing but his clothes and his coat. Though winter was long past, it still wasn't what you could call 'warm' at night, and anyway, Edward had no money for food…

---

Alfons ended up leaving work early that day. He found himself unable to focus, worried to distraction over Edward. Finally he gave up his pathetic attempts at nozzle alignment, and took himself home to have a serious talk.

He sat himself down at the kitchen table, which doubled as workspace and junkyard, and told himself sternly to admit the truth to himself.

Because the truth was, that he still couldn't kill the small, pathetic part of him that desperately wanted Edward's recognition. Even now, when he was doing his best to _not care_ about what Edward thought or did, some part of him still ached to have Edward back.

And though he tried to shake the memory, Edward's agonized words kept coming back to him. It was true – Edward, knowing that he would someday be leaving, had tried not to make emotional attachments. Alfons had been the one to push and prod the man until he got what he wanted, not taking Edward's fragile emotional state into account. Alfons had known that it would end like this. He could have found a gentler way to break it off.

Even if there was no solution to the disaster that was 'them', it didn't have to end this way. _When_, not if, he saw Edward again, Alfons decided he wouldn't stay silent anymore. Somehow, he would find a way to mend what could be mended, and maybe leave them both with a bittersweet memory. And maybe he would find the courage to tell Edward that he was sorry, and that he did love him.

---

It was late that night, and Alfons had nearly fallen asleep, when he heard the front door open and shut. Sleepily, he forced himself upright, remembering his resolve. It didn't matter that it was some ungodly hour in the morning – he had to catch Edward _now, _before he vanished again.

But by the time his resolutions concluded the complicated negotiations with the rest of his body and had about convinced said body to get out of bed, Edward was standing at the door to his room.

"Alfons?" Edward's voice was slightly scratchy. "Listen…I know you probably don't want to hear me at all right now. But I just…there's something I have to tell you."

"Look, it's-" Alfons tried to preempt whatever Edward was going to say. Before Edward gave him his departure date, Alfons desperately wanted to make things right between them.

"Please, just let me say this!" There were overtones of hysteria in Edward's voice, which Alfons didn't like at all. What had Edward been _doing_ to himself?

"All my life," Alfons could tell Edward was fighting to keep his voice steady. "All my life I've had that old bird-in-the-hand, two-in-the-bush thing going on. And every single time, I thought I could get the two in the bush. I thought…" Edward swayed for a moment, then continued. "I can't do it anymore. I just keep on losing more and more…"

Edward's silhouette slumped against the jamb. "I had _you_, Alfons. And now, if I leave, I don't know what I'll have. Every time I try to break the rules, it ends up _wrong._ I'm scared," he whispered hoarsely. "My father is never around, I don't know where he is. You're the only person I have in this world." With an effort, he pushed himself into the room and knelt on the floor next to Alfons bed; intentionally making himself small, possibly for the first time since Alfons had known him.

Unable to process what he was hearing, Alfons just stared at him in shock, and couldn't think of anything to say.

"What I'm saying is, I'm not going. Anywhere. I want…to stay with you." Edward's voice was cracking terribly, and he could barely get the last words out. "If you'll have me."

* * *


	16. Pick Your Poison

Whoa. I was really happy about the responses to the last chapter - and hey, maybe this story'll hit 100 reviews! That's always cool, and you have no idea (or maybe you do, I hope you do!) how much I appreciate the time you guys take to leave me a comment... But seriously, I'm surprised you guys weren't more worried XD. I was _this close_ to writing Ed staying with Alfons and never making it home. Eventually Ed denied ever having come from anywhere else, and refused to even mention his own world. Alfons tried to convince himself that Ed was happy, but never really quite succeeded. (I actually did write it, 'cause I felt like writing wangst one day) ...but don't worry, that won't be the ending. That would be a lousy ending.

* * *

-

Unable to process what he was hearing, Alfons just stared at him in shock, and couldn't think of anything to say.

"What I'm saying is, I'm not going. Anywhere. I want…to stay with you." Edward's voice was cracking terribly, and he could barely get the last words out. "If you'll have me."

All Alfons could do was stammer, stupidly, "But your world…"

Edward shook his head and tried to speak, failed, and just shook his head again.

"No!" Alfons said, suddenly horrified. "No, no, Edward, you can't do this!" Edward was falling apart in front of him, and Alfons knew that the man could never truly live happily in this world. Much as he was elated by the fact that when push came to shove Edward was incapable of leaving him, Edward without his dreams wouldn't be _Edward_. And much as he hated to admit it to himself, if Edward stayed in this world, he would be forever heartbroken.

Alfons slid onto the floor next to Edward, and took him by the shoulders. "You stupid idiot, you can't stay because of me! I'm…damn it, anything could happen. What would you possibly _do _with yourself? You only studied rockets in order to get home…"

Edward looked away and shrugged, and Alfons wondered if Edward even cared anymore. God. He had to make a mental note never to let Edward brood so long, and with so much alcohol in his system. When Edward had no one to talk to but Edward, the conclusions he drew were inevitably screwed up.

"Edward," Alfons hugged him, rocking him slightly. "You stupid, stupid imbecile. Why did you never ask me to come with you? Why don't you want me to come to your world?"

Edward stiffened suddenly, and managed to sputter, "I…you want? …I didn't think…"

"Convince me," Alfons pulled away, forcing himself to ignore the terrible pang at the fact that Edward _hadn't trusted him _enough and he didn't _deserve _to be trusted anyway, and ran one hand down Edward's neck. Heaven help him, he had one foot out the door already. Fairy-touched was right; he was halfway to nowhere, and he knew that right now, if Edward said the proper words… "I know you've thought about it," he whispered, "I know the way your mind works. Tell me why I should come with you, make me promises I can't refuse."

"I…" Edward stared at him, golden eyes wide, "Alfons…you…you could pioneer heavier-than-air flight," he managed. "You would be famous. And… I want to show you my world, Alfons, it's so beautiful, terrible, and people are bad sometimes, just like here, but it's so bright!"

Almost unbidden, Alfons saw images in his mind's eye, landscapes based on fairy tales, dreams of places far away. He knew, that from the moment he had started to _believe,_ he had been lost to this world, tempted beyond his ability to resist.

For one endless moment, the rational world did battle with the forces of faerie, but when Ed curved his fingers around the back of Alfons' head and touched their foreheads together, whispering a soft 'please?', Alfons knew that he was irrevocably lost, because how could he possibly resist what he had always wanted?

A tremendous weight was suddenly lifted from his shoulders, and he found himself laughing.

"Yes!" he breathed, watching tentative hope creep onto Edward's face. Before Edward could protest, Alfons kissed him.

"It's just after I cough…" he pleaded when they pulled apart. Edward gave him a lopsided smile and a too-chaste kiss, but his later enthusiasm almost made up for it.

* * *

The decision had been strangely easy, Alfons realized in dismay when he woke up the next morning. He looked sideways to where Edward still slept, back in his bed once again. A fond rush of feeling flooded him, a relief that Edward was _his_ once again, maybe for always, and he reached out to gently stroke Edward's golden hair. 

Edward stirred and nuzzled towards him, and even in Edward's relaxed state Alfons could detect the signs of exhaustion on his features. Resisting the urge to just lean down and kiss Edward all over was almost physically painful, but he didn't want to wake him up. A good night's sleep was something that had been far from Edward for the past week, and despite the fact that last night hadn't been exactly _restful_, at least he was sleeping now.

Alfons had never been much of a dreamer, at least in the conventional way of pirates or magic. Always, he had been pragmatic to a fault; his only concession to dreaming was building rockets.

He buried his face in his hands as the reality of last night crashed down on him once again. Dear God, what had he agreed to? Leaving Germany, his homeland, behind, throwing away years of research, his ideals, his beliefs, his family, and for what?

Wonderful as Edward might be, he was just a man. Was he truly worth Alfons betraying everything he believed in?

But he wasn't doing this just for Edward, he argued with himself. He wanted to be part of it. The prospect of breaking almost every single known law of the universe made his blood burn, and his heart race. Was this selfishness truly more important to him than his country?

And if so, what did it say about him, that he was so easily corrupted?

* * *

It only got harder over the next few days. Edward threw himself into the task with frenzy – running around arranging visas, and trying to book passage on a steamship. Thankfully, there wasn't much for Alfons to do; he wasn't sure he would have been able to, anyway. Some days he could barely stomach the thought that he was actually going through with the plan. 

He continued to work as usual, not even bothering to explain where Edward had vanished to, and tried to pretend that he wasn't planning on leaving as soon as Edward gave the word.

Despite his misgivings about his own moral fiber (though really, where exactly did he have the gall to wonder about his morality, he was sleeping with a man for goodness' sake), he never considered going back on his word. He had promised Edward, and after everything he had done, reneging on the promise was not an option. That would be betrayal of the worst kind. Moreover, if he was honest with himself, he _wanted_ to go.

Stranger yet, he realized that even if nobody else in the world ever knew of their achievement, even if they died there, some part of him would die happy, knowing he had managed to do the impossible.

He returned one day to find Edward sitting at the kitchen table, papers laid out in front of him.

Edward didn't even look up when he came in, just continued scrutinizing whatever-it-was. Well, fine.

"Hello to you, too," Alfons announced, hanging up his coat and dumping his books near the wall.

"Huh? Hi," Edward said absently, and Alfons strolled over to inspect what turned out to be steamship brochures.

"It's going to be expensive," Edward piped up after a moment, and handed Alfons one of the papers. "Cunard Line has ships leaving from Hamburg – we can get cabins on the _Imperator_."

Alfons read the brochure several times, not quite believing his eyes. "Edward…it's fifty American dollars per person! Where are we going to get that kind of money?"

"I think we still have some from the last time the old bastard sent me money. I was going to write and tell him we're going to America anyway; I'll just ask him for more."

"Edward!" Alfons said reproachfully, and got a completely unrepentant grin for his trouble.

"It's _going_ to work," Edward said firmly, as if the strength of his conviction would make the money magically appear.

Alfons was almost afraid of that.

* * *

For the next few weeks he hardly got to see Edward at all, which left him quite disappointed. After all, he hadn't been with Edward for a while because they were fighting, and now there was no camaraderie or conversation to look forward to, given that Edward tended to return very late, and exhausted. Which also meant no sex. 

But still, this meant that he didn't have to think about what was happening. He knew that this move was irrevocable; if he left Germany, one way or another he would never return.

Countless times he found himself on the verge of telling Edward he couldn't do it, but always found a reason not to. For better or for worse, he had given his word, and he couldn't bring himself to break it. Edward had become so immensely _cheerful_ lately, despite his chronic exhaustion, and Alfons liked him that way.

Instead of voicing his doubts, Alfons threw himself ever harder into rocketry, hoping to assuage his guilt by making as many advances as quickly as possible. He spent more hours than ever at the university, and the rest of his time trying to find sponsors to fund the new experiments.

One night he even convinced Edward to get drunk so Alfons could try picking his mind for ideas. When asked about rockets, Edward spent an hour babbling wildly about some horrible war, people being gassed to death, and a bomb that could wipe out millions of people. Disturbed, Alfons decided to give up that line of investigation.

* * *

They kept a sock full of money under their mattress, and Alfons watched in slight worry as it grew steadily fuller. It couldn't be that much longer until they had enough for the tickets, and Alfons felt oddly unenthusiastic at the prospect. 

Edward found him like that one evening before bed, staring morosely at the cash in the sock.

"You shouldn't take it out too often," he said quietly, "Someone might steal it."

Alfons sighed and rolled the sock back up, stowing it in its hiding place. "I know," he said.

He finished undressing and crawled into bed next to Edward, who immediately wrapped strong arms around him and pulled him down to nibble at his jaw. Alfons responded half-heartedly, and Edward gave him a perplexed look.

"Sorry," Alfons said, lying back down. "Guess I'm just not really in the mood."

Surprisingly, Edward didn't push the issue, but lay quietly next to him for a few minutes, before he spoke.

"You know, Alfons, I've been thinking…maybe you shouldn't come with me."

Alfons jolted upright, startled. "_What_?"

"It's not that I don't want you to!" Edward said quickly. "But… you know I hate this world. And I…I don't want you to hate my world." His voice trailed off into silence.

"But I'm choosing this," Alfons said, and willed himself to believe that this was what he truly wanted. "Why should I regret it later?"

"Sometimes you don't regret something until it's already too late. Getting used to a new world isn't easy." Edward rolled over onto his side, looking at him intently. Alfons lay back down, also on his side, so his face was centimeters away from Edward's.

"You have your own dream, Alfons," Edward said softly, and Alfons felt a rush of emotion inside of him, part happy, part terrified. "I don't want to be responsible for you losing it. You have your whole life ahead of you."

And that, maybe, was what scared Alfons the most. For months he had been certain that he was going to die, and now suddenly his life loomed before him, an unknown emptiness that he didn't know what to do with. Edward had held him, stabilized him, made the future less frightening, and Alfons didn't know if he was capable of striking out on his own. "I don't know," he finally said, opting for honesty. "I want to go with you, Edward, but…" _My country, my dreams, my people, my world._ "I don't know what to do."

"I can't tell you what to do." Edward spoke softly. There was a note of sadness in his voice, but none of the depressive misery Alfons was afraid of. For better or for worse, Edward was willing to let go, if that was what Alfons wanted.

"But I have an idea," Edward continued. "I'll leave you the money for a ticket, and the papers, if you want to follow me. And I…I'll write to you, I promise. I'll tell you everything. Just please write back to me." Edward's voice faded off into a whisper, with only the slightest quavering at the end.

A wave of pure and utter need suddenly swept through Alfons, and he pulled Edward towards him, almost crushing his mouth. For one horrible moment, it seemed like Edward was going to pull away, but then he sighed, and allowed his tongue to intertwine with Alfons'.

"Give me a little more time to think about it," Alfons whispered against his lips.

* * *

Alfons found himself unable to fall asleep that night, despite how tired he was. Edward was sleeping like a log, one arm slung possessively over Alfons' waist, and Alfons wished he could sleep too. Disconnected thoughts scuttled through his mind, and he tried to make sense of what he was feeling. 

It seemed that every time he thought he had a handle on what was happening to him, something else happened to kick his legs out from under him. He had spent months resigning himself to the idea of dying of consumption, only to find out that he wasn't going to die at all, and was suffering from a completely different disease.

Edward had wandered into his life and turned it completely on its ear, forcing him to come to terms with much more than his sexuality. And now… he had resolved to stay, then agreed to go, and now suddenly Edward was giving him a choice again, and he didn't know what to do. The swinging back and forth was getting to be too much for him. Why couldn't his life be _simple_, for God's sake?

Alfons found himself intensely jealous of his friends at the university. None of _them_ had to debate whether or not to open mystical portals into other universes or not.

Maybe Edward's solution was best. He could stay for now, and possibly follow him to America later.

A nameless disquiet filled him at the thought. What if something happened along the way? What if he never heard from Edward again, and never knew what had happened to him?

And he couldn't change the fact that he owed Edward so damn much. Edward had, in a sense, saved his fool life for him – or at least, it _felt _like it. He would never be able to forget that, in the end, Edward had been the first to tell him he wasn't going to die. On a scale of treachery, was betrayal of his country really worse than betraying Edward, who had honestly been willing to give up his world for him? Which promise was worth more, a promise to his people, his country, which if broken, would be felt keenest by his own self, or a promise to another human, who believed in him and trusted him, and could be deeply hurt by his decision?

He should sleep on it, Alfons decided. Give himself a few days to try and get a handle on what was going on, and –

No, dammit, he was just procrastinating. Lack of decision was a decision in and of itself. It wouldn't get any easier than it was now.

He should try approaching the problem scientifically, weigh the pros and the cons of leaving.

Well, Alfons thought, here goes. Why should he leave?

Because Edward wanted him to, and he loved Edward. Because he could be a part of doing something amazing and unbelievable, and be one of the few people to travel between universes.

This would be so much easier to do if he had a pen and paper in front of him, but Alfons didn't have the energy to get up.

What else? Well, Edward had promised he'd be famous. According to Edward, there was no heavier-than-air travel in his world at all. His name would go down in history, just like he'd always wanted.

And why shouldn't he leave?

They might fail. It might never work, or they could somehow die in the attempt. There were all sorts of difficulties in getting used to a new world; it would probably be much harder than he could imagine. He would never see his cousins again, and the last of his family would disappear forever from this world.

But his close family was gone anyway; he was the last of this branch. And his cousins…well, it wasn't like they were _that _close….Alfons decided to ignore that train of thought.

He was betraying his ideals of a better Germany, of showing the world that they could be the center of civilization again.

If he left, he would be going somewhere where the word 'Germany' was utterly meaningless.

But it _wasn't_ easy to weigh the options, because the biggest question was, did he love Edward more than his country?

Alfons looked over at Edward, and the answer was suddenly painfully obvious. He felt a pang, but he knew that this time he would stick by his decision.

The rest of his life still loomed emptily ahead of him, but he felt at peace now, knowing that, for better or for worse, he had chosen his path.

* * *

He woke up when Edward tried to get out of bed without disturbing him. Alfons smiled to himself. That was one of the advantages of having Edward sleep close to the wall, as well as the fact that he was usually draped over Edward in some form or another; it was extremely difficult for the man to sneak off. 

Alfons tightened his grip on Edward's waist, and refused to be budged.

"Alfons?" Edward asked uncertainly, not quite sure what to make of his suddenly whimsical behavior.

"Don't you want to know what I decided?" Alfons opened his eyes, and smiled up at Edward.

Looking apprehensive and not a little taken aback, Edward finally managed, "do I?"

_He's nervous_, Alfons thought, and it was like a revelation. Edward loved him. Edward might never actually _say_ it, but – no, Alfons suddenly realized, abashed. Edward had been telling him he loved him for months now. It was Alfons who hadn't known how to listen.

"Well, I should hope you want to know. After all, it's _your_ hard-earned money paying for my tickets."

Digesting this information, guarded hope slowly sneaked onto Edward's face. "But…I thought we agreed that you would come later –"

Alfons grinned. "Nope, I decided to come with you now."

Edward had a perturbed frown on his face; he didn't seem to like having this discussion while flat on his back, with Alfons leaning over him.

"But-" he said stubbornly.

Alfons idly drew small circles on Edward's chest with his index finger. "Edward, it's _my_ life. I can do what I want with it. This is my choice. End of story," he stated firmly.

A smile tugged at Edward's mouth, and he raised his arms, grabbing Alfons and tugging him down. For a moment Alfons almost panicked, when the prosthetic thumped him soundly across the shoulders – was Edward mad at him?

But no, he realized, his nose buried in Edward's chest, Edward's arms firmly holding him there. It was a hug. Smiling, he wrapped his arms awkwardly around Edward as much as he could, feeling his lover's arms tighten in response.

_I love you_, Edward was telling him silently, and this time Alfons heard him clearly.

* * *

Finally, though, the day came when he would have to announce his intentions to leave. He had asked Edward to stay away for a few moments, so he could talk to his friends alone. 

Looking around the warehouse that had practically been his second home for years, at the rockets that he had worked so hard trying to perfect, Alfons suddenly felt a deep sense of loss. He would miss this place.

During lunch, Alfons sat silently, memorizing their voices. Law. Fritz. Dorochett. Chances were that he would never see them again. Finally he understood how difficult it must be for Edward, being alone in this world. He was _choosing_ to leave, hoping to find something better, but Edward had simply been thrown away, to wake up in a strange place and discover that he had lost everything.

"Guys?" Alfons tried, hoping he wouldn't lose his nerve. "Hey, listen a minute!" he raised his voice a little, and soon their attention turned to him. "I need to tell you something." Their eyes on him had an almost palpable weight, and Alfons felt suddenly guilty. "I'm leaving," he finally managed.

There was a shocked silence for a moment, then Fritz finally spoke.

"Is this some sort of joke?" his tone was confused.

Alfons shook his head.

That opened the floodgates, and he was suddenly bombarded with questions. Why? Where was he going? What made him decide to leave?

"I'm going to America," Alfons answered. "I'm…" How was he supposed to explain it? The sentence trailed off into silence, and now frowns were directed at him.

"So you're leaving this?" Dorochett waved his arm, encompassing the whole of the warehouse. "I thought the country was important to you. What happened to your ideals?"

"I've decided to be selfish," Alfons answered quietly, though the accusing tone stung him. "There's something I need to do, beyond building rockets. I've given years to the homeland. Now it's my turn."

"You're not going to build rockets for the _Americans_?" Fritz asked in horror.

"No!" Alfons protested. "I'm leaving rockets behind for now. We're going to work on light waves…" _shit._ The 'we' had slipped out, and he could see a dawning realization on his friends' faces.

"It's _him_!" Dorochett spat, leaping up. "He's the one who convinced you to go!" His accusing finger was pointed at where Edward sat quietly contemplating a diagram.

"No," Alfons protested weakly, but they had caught on to the idea.

"Listen, it's crazy!" Fritz told him earnestly, concern on his features. "There's nothing wrong with being Edward's friend, God knows the poor guy needs friends, but don't let his insanity get to you! You're humoring him too much!"

"I'm not humoring him," Alfons found a smile inching onto his face. "I asked to go with him."

"He's bewitched," Dorochett snapped. "That lunatic's put him under a spell."

_No_, Alfons wanted to laugh, _he's not a witch, he's a demon!_ But that would just make him sound utterly crazy, so he only protested, "Don't be ridiculous, you're supposed to be scientists! Edward's just a normal person."

Fritz and Dorochett stood up, and were now looking at him flatly. Even Law, usually reserved, was radiating disappointment in him.

"We're not going to let you leave," Dorochett said stubbornly. "You're obviously not in your right mind."

…._What?_ Like hell he wasn't! Alfons jumped up as well, and glared at them. "What I decide to do with my life is my business! And you know I'm not crazy. I'm no crazier than Edward is!"

There were groans all around, and several ridiculous suggestions were aired, such as dragging him to a priest to get exorcised.

"Enough!" Alfons shouted, momentarily drowning them out. "Why do you think I'm going to let you take control of my life?" he demanded furiously. "You say I'm crazy? Let me tell you, I've never been happier in my life. What we're doing is _big_. And when we succeed, it's probably going to be in the newspapers – but nobody's going to know what really happened," Alfons grinned at the thought. "All anybody will know is that we're gone."

Law finally spoke, grabbing him by the shoulders and looked at him earnestly. "Alfons, listen to yourself! Ever since Edward moved in with you, you've started getting unbalanced. I can understand that you look up to him; _anybody_ would want to have that sort of brainpower! But Edward's just not all there."

The scary part, Alfons mused, was that Law truly believed what he was saying. He felt a strange sinking feeling over the fact that these people who he had considered friends had never managed to see past Edward's exterior.

"Genius comes with a price," Law continued. "Honestly, I'm thankful to be a bit less smart, but with both feet on the ground. Do you really think it's worth throwing your life away for that dream world of his?"

Alfons smiled gently. "No, I don't. But I'm not throwing my life away. And secondly," in for the sheep as well as the lamb, "It's not a dream world. He proved it to me. Scientifically. In a way that cannot be disproved." Alfons shrugged. "What kind of scientist would I be if I ignored obvious proof, just because it's a different and radical idea?"

There was silence for a moment, as everybody digested this idea, and then Dorochett muttered acidly, "would this proof happen to involve Satanic rituals?"

"No!" Alfons snapped, his patience breaking.

"Of course not," Law said placatingly. "Well, why don't you show us the proof?"

Alfons hesitated, torn. He _wanted_ affirmation. He wanted somebody to tell him that what he was doing wasn't that bad, and that it _wasn't_ betrayal of his country and friends. His gaze slowly wandered over to where Edward sat hunched over some papers on the table in front of him, his ponytail straggling down his back.

It wasn't fair to Edward, he thought. Making him strip, to expose his secrets to these men who believed him crazy anyway? The thought of Edward's body on display made something dark and angry shift in Alfons' belly.

If they couldn't accept his word, what kind of friends were they, anyway?

Alfons took care to meet each of their eyes in turn. "I can't show you. It's Edward's proof, not mine, and he showed me because he trusted me. I'm not going to betray that trust."

For one wild minute he thought of giving them the clinching argument – _I'm in love with him_, but he found himself unable to admit that. He didn't want them to think him completely depraved.

There was a silence. Law broke it with a heavy sigh.

"It is your decision," he said heavily. "Though I admit I did not expect this of you."

Alfons flinched inside, but accepted the criticism.

The ice seemed to have broken, though. Dorochett let out a laugh.

"I think you're daft, Alfons, but it's your life. I wish you luck in your insanity."

Fritz shrugged. "I don't like it. I think it's a crummy thing to do to us. But there isn't much we can do to stop you. I hope you end up pleased with your decision."

He wasn't quite sure what he had hoped for. Maybe some understanding, or support, but he supposed that from their point of view, he really was pretty crummy. If he was honest with himself, if a year ago one of the others had started telling everybody how Edward was all sane and that parallel universes were real and that he was going off with Edward to find one, he would have probably reacted similarly.

"Goodbye, then," he said lamely. The responses were slightly grudging, and as Alfons turned, he could feel their almost pitying eyes on his back. It was a distinctly unpleasant feeling. How did Edward put up with it all the time?

Edward looked up as Alfons approached. "That seems to have gone rather well," he commented, and Alfons rolled his eyes, still too sore inside to be able to joke about it.

"They think I'm nuts," Alfons said softly. "They think I've gone crazy like you." Only after the words were out of his mouth he realized how it must sound, and opened his mouth to blurt out a quick explanation, but Edward forestalled him.

"Why do you care?" he asked. "You're leaving anyway. What does it matter what they think?"

"It doesn't," Alfons answered, not entirely convincingly. Somehow, he wanted these people, whom he'd worked with, shared successes and failures with, to understand why he was doing this.

"It'll get better," Edward said softly, his eyes dropping to the rocket schematic he was putting the last touches on. "You'll meet new people, who won't think you're crazy. Everybody finds someone who trusts them, in the end."

Alfons smiled at him, touched, and already feeling a little better. No matter what, Edward believed in him.

Putting the pen down, Edward pushed his chair back decisively. "Done," he said, and turned his back on the rockets he had worked on for so long. "Let's go."

With one last glance backwards and a slight prickling behind his eyes, Alfons turned his back on the job that had been his life, and followed the man who had stolen him from this world.

* * *

_Okay, this is NOT the end. I'm not saying any of you assumed that it was, but just in case somebody had even a tiny moment of doubt, so, well, don't :) However, this is, in a sense the end of Part One (don't freak- the parts are not of equal lengths! this won't be a fifty-chapter story) which is why I'm so uncharacteristically verbose. So, if you want to bail now, 'cause I'm just going to ramble a little bit, go ahead, but I just want to take a few minutes to enjoy this moment._

_I've been working on this story for months now, and I'm amazed at how quickly I'm getting it done. Hopefully I'll be able to keep updating regularly the whole way through. Now is where the story gets really complicated - will they manage to build the array? Will it work? Will they make it through alive? My love for angst is warring constantly with my love for sap - so chances are there will be quite a bit of both. Speaking of angst, I think I need to drop the 'humor' tag from this fic. I mean, the first chapters were amusing, but I don't think it's quite so funny any more..._

_Darn. I mean, I feel like throwing a mini-party, just 'cause I'm so pleased with having made it this far, and maybe offering you guys some drabbles or something, but I'm too shy :( and I think I'm bad at writing drabbles, anyway...but I will thank you for sticking with me so far, and I hope I'll see you through to the conclusion. (hearts)_


	17. New World

Wow! I was amazed by the responses I got last chapter! You guys are awesome. This time I just have two short things to say:  
1) Until now, I've tried (and sometimes failed, sorry) to update weekly. Since my university strike is over, I may not be able to do that anymore, so look for an update about once every two weeks. I'm terribly sorry.  
2) Thanks to Erik for the information about the German language so that I can (hopefully) make Alfons' mangling of English realistic.

And lots of love goes to TerraCottaKitten, who was actually inspired to draw something based on the fic! (it can be found at her deviantart, under the same name. I'd link, but ff. net doesn't let...it's really pretty, though!)

* * *

Their apartment was glaringly empty of anything hinting that it had been their home. Alfons looked around one last time, already fancying he felt homesick. In a sense, it reflected his feelings of disconnection; he was leaving almost nothing behind him, no great successes, almost nobody to miss him. Just like Germany, he would leave this world behind, with not even a grave to mark his passing.

Soft footsteps echoed through the empty room, as Edward came to stand behind him. "Are you ready?" he asked softly. "I got the trunks downstairs."

Turning slightly, Alfons regarded his lover. Edward didn't seem particularly unhappy about leaving, but then, Edward could keep his emotions well hidden when he truly wanted to. "Aren't you going to miss it here?"

Edward shrugged. "That's why there's no point in my getting connected. I always knew I was going to leave."

But you did get connected, Alfons wanted to say, then thought better of it. That attitude made a sad sort of sense, though he wasn't sure _he_ would be capable of adopting it. Resolutely, he turned his back on the flat. "I'm ready."

Nodding decisively, Edward stepped close to him, and for a moment Alfons thought Edward was going to take his hand. But he turned away at the last second, and just made his way to the stairs, pretending nothing had happened.

The aborted gesture was enough to cheer Alfons up, though, and he followed Edward downstairs, marveling at the heady feeling of being able to make Edward so incredibly _happy_.

Frau Gracia was waiting for them, looking rather like she might burst into tears. Embarrassed and rather uncomfortable, Edward stood near her, fidgeting.

The goodbyes were quiet and rather awkward, because really, how comfortable could it be when Edward was hard-pressed to hide how badly he wanted to just be away from there?

Words quickly ran out, and Alfons turned to leave, Edward falling into step beside him. At the last moment, though, Edward paused and turned back, calling his own thanks back to a surprised Gracia with a grin. It was possibly the first and last time that he had ever spoken to her voluntarily.

---

Alfons expected the day and a half long train ride to Hamburg to be tedious, and it certainly was. They were cooped up in a tiny cabin, thankfully furnished with bunks, their trunks taking up what little floor space they had. Since they had to share space with two other men, it was impossible to talk about hardly anything meaningful.

Actually, it was pretty much impossible to have conversations with Edward in general, annoyingly enough. Train rides seemed to act like some sort of soporific for him, possibly having to do with the vast amounts of time he had spent on them in Amestris. Edward had walked into the cabin, enthused over the fact that they had _beds_, and promptly lay down and was out like a light, leaving Alfons to deal with the mind-numbing boredom on his own.

Having chosen the bunk across from Edward's, he had a rather nice view of his lover, and as the hours went by he had to comfort himself with the fact that on the ship they would have a cabin of their very own, and would surely find some interesting ways to pass the time.

When dinnertime rolled around he finally woke Edward up. After a few seconds of shaking, Edward opened bleary eyes, murmuring a sleepy "Al? We in Central yet?"

Feeling a sharp pang somewhere in the vicinity of his chest, Alfons shook him again, murmuring softly, "Edward, it's me. Wake up, there's food."

"Mmm, that's nice," Edward mumbled, rubbing his eyes. He sat up and blinked, and Alfons almost flinched at the sudden despair that washed across Edward's features for a second when he realized where he was.

"You up?" he asked, firmly keeping the hurt out of his tone.

"Thanks," Edward replied softly, rolling to his feet. Looking rather guilty, he shot a hopeful look at Alfons, and pretended the slip had never happened, a plan of action Alfons was perfectly willing to go along with.

Even so, Edward was morose all through dinner, and ate much less than usual. After a bit, Alfons gave up on trying to have a conversation with him and just sat there silently, wishing he wasn't so useless.

Having slept pretty much all day, Alfons would have expected Edward to be a hyper-active bundle of energy all night, but to his surprise, Edward curled back up on his bunk after dinner, and continued dozing. Uncertain, Alfons watched him for a while longer, wondering if Edward wasn't trying to evade him.

No, he thought. He wouldn't go down that route. Edward had every right to be tired, after all the hard work he had put in for the past month. There was no point in reading too much into this.

Instead, he dug out one of the books he had promised himself he was saving for the weeks long sea voyage. He comforted himself with the fact that there was absolutely _no way_ Edward would sleep away their entire time shipboard.

---

"Wow," Edward breathed, his eyes glittering as he watched the waves lapping against the docks, and the massive ships moving about the harbor, as excited as if he was looking at the prettiest beach in the world, and not just smelly old Hamburg port.

"You've seen the sea before," Alfons said, rather amused. "Didn't you come over from England?"

"Yeah, but…" brushing his windswept hair from his face, Edward grinned at him sheepishly. "Amestris is land-locked. The sea is really nice, you know?"

It was a pleasant change, seeing childlike wonder on Edward's face. Too often he seemed like he had seen everything, done everything, and was far older than his eighteen years.

Not that Alfons wasn't excited as well; unlike Edward, he had never been on a sea voyage, and was looking forward to the experience. But the whole affair was made more extraordinary by the interest Edward exhibited.

The _Imperator_ was an impressive ship, with multiple decks, and many rooms hinting at plenty of amusements. Alfons was rather discouraged to discover that, as third class passengers, they would have absolutely no access to the ship's varied activities.

He was even more disappointed when he saw their cabin, a tiny affair with two wooden bunks, a small sink across from them, and a minimal amount of space to store the belongings they weren't stowing in the hold of the ship.

"No window?" he asked plaintively, looking around at the claustrophobia-inducing pathetic excuse for a room.

Edward shrugged. "For the price we paid, be happy there's even a sink." He sat down heavily on the lower bunk, which, Alfons was frustrated to note, looked like it would be exceedingly difficult to fit two people into.

"Why do _you_ get to pick the bunk?" he wondered disappointedly, and Edward just grinned cheekily at him, and flopped onto his back.

Several days later it would occur to him that Edward would have found it extremely difficult to climb up to the upper bunk with his prosthetic, but that day, Alfons just sighed, and climbed up into his own bunk. He stared at the bland, boring ceiling in silence for a few minutes, then asked, "And you're sure we can't go on deck?"

"I don't think so," Edward answered. "They don't want us lowlifes bothering the _real_ paying customers with our presence." His tone made it clear exactly what he thought of the policy.

Soon enough there was a loud rumbling, as the ship began moving out of port. A dull roar started up, the sound of the engines rumbling to life, growing louder, and showed no sign of dissipating. Alfons made a face. It was beginning to be clear why the cabins on the end were so much less money than the ones in the center of the ship, though having studied engineering, it should have been obvious to him from the beginning. The engines were situated at the aft of the ship, their noise clearly audible in any of the cabins in that area, where their cabin certainly was.

Also, the structure of the ship meant that while the center of the ship was fairly level, the ends suffered from constant up and down movement. It would take a little getting used to, but Alfons decided it wasn't really bothersome. Certainly the noise was much more annoying than a bit of pitching.

"So, Edward, want to play something?" he offered. They had brought a pack of cards along. Maybe Edward would consent to teach him some of his cheating techniques.

There was no answer, and Alfons pushed himself up on an elbow to try and see what was going on. "Edward?"

The only response he got was unhappy whimpering, and suddenly Edward pushed himself off the bunk and lurched over to the sink, where he doubled over, vomiting.

"Shit," Edward gasped when he had emptied his stomach. His face, from what Alfons could see in the little mirror, was a sickly shade of green.

Alfons quickly scrambled down the ladder and took the few steps across the gently pitching floor to reach Edward's side. "What's wrong?"

"It's…_rocking_," Edward managed, and gagged again. Instinctively, Alfons grabbed at Edward's hair, pulling his bangs out of his face. "But you've been on a ship before," he said, confused.

Gripping the sink with his prosthetic, Edward opened the faucet, and managed to gulp a little bit. "It wasn't like _this_," he answered weakly. "Nicer cabins…" And he was hunched over again, retching.

After Edward had brought up everything in his stomach and then some, Alfons finally managed to coax him back to bed. A testament to how lousy he must be feeling, Edward barely protested at all, and just lay there, looking ill.

"Is there anything I can get you?" he wondered, feeling useless.

Edward cracked one eye open. "Cyanide," he groaned.

It wasn't that Alfons minded that Edward was ill. On the contrary, at first some small part of him was pleased, because it meant that he could finally do something for Edward. The problem was that Edward was incredibly resistant to being helped. He turned his face to the wall, and refused to so much as look at Alfons.

Kneeling next to the bed, Alfons tried to come up with ways to cheer Edward up, but only discovered that he was in the way the next time Edward leaped to his feet to lurch unsteadily over to the sink.

"Can't you just stay out of the damn way?" Edward demanded, staggering back to bed.

"Sorry," Alfons said quietly, and Edward forgot his misery long enough to shoot Alfons an almost guilty look.

But the truth was that no, Edward did not want to be cheered up. He didn't want to talk, or read, or do anything. If Alfons really wanted to help Edward, he could try _fucking off_ for a while, how was that for a novel idea? Because Edward was _absolutely fine_.

Considering that Edward spent most of his time lying down, a pained look on his face, and trying not to moan too loudly, Alfons concluded that Edward's definition of 'fine' was another one of those things about the man that didn't quite conform to international consensus.

But after all, there was only so long he could try and take care of someone who seemed to be constantly crabby, and really didn't want to be helped. Reluctantly, he was forced to leave Edward alone after a while, rather sore over the fact that most of the time Edward simply didn't want him around.

All in all, those weeks on shipboard were incredibly helpful in terms of giving Alfons an idea of what Hell must be like. Really, he was hard pressed to come up with something more generally unpleasant and seemingly eternal as two weeks closed in a tiny, perpetually sour-smelling ship's cabin, with an incredibly cranky seasick Edward for company.

After deciding to just leave Edward to his own devices, Alfons' problems were not over, considering that there was only so much for him to do. Exploring the corridors got tedious after a while, and while he met some interesting people, it still wasn't enough to keep him properly occupied.

He quickly finished all the books they had accessible, and finally started working on that silly book on exorcism Edward had bought him so long ago. Edward had laughed at him for keeping it, but he couldn't deny the fact that the book had the ability to cheer him up. It was the first (and only, come to think of it) present Edward had ever gotten him.

After a few days, Alfons began noticing another distinct disadvantage to the situation. Lying alone in bed, he started to realize that Edward writhing on the bunk below him and occasionally making pitiful moaning sounds was starting to sound oddly arousing.

Mortified, Alfons quashed the thoughts; Edward certainly wouldn't be interested, and there was no way in _hell_ he was going to jerk off in the same tiny cabin as his seasick lover. His resolve lasted nearly a week, until he found himself considering that there was something rather sexy about holding Edward's hair out of his face while he vomited.

At that point he figured that enough was enough, and slunk off to find a corner where he could spend some time with his hand.

About a week and a half in, Alfons found Edward sitting up in bed, still looking sickly, but his mouth set in a determined line.

Having been snapped at once too often, Alfons was cautious when asking how Edward was feeling, and made sure he was out of easy kicking range.

"I'm not going to be sick anymore," Edward announced with a scowl. "It sucks."

Alfons was skeptical, but didn't argue, and helped Edward up and into clean clothes.

Edward spent the rest of the day stalking grimly through the corridors on their level, his jaw clenched in concentration. Oddly enough, it seemed to do the trick. Edward was still prone to bouts of nausea, but the worst appeared to be over.

Also, Alfons was quite gratified to discover that they could, indeed, both fit on Edward's bunk, and that Edward was quite amenable to making up for lost time.

---

America. Despite the fact that he had never been one of the people to dream of making his fortune in this country, Alfons couldn't help the awe he felt as he stood at the railing watching Boston harbor draw near. This land would be his home for the next… well, however long it took until they completed the array.

Looking to the side, he studied Edward, who was also watching the coast. His hair blew around his face haphazardly, but Edward seemed oblivious, his eyes fixed firmly forward. Suddenly the look on his face softened, his eyebrows drawing together slightly in distress, and…. Alfons leaned closer, wondering if he was imagining the wetness in Edward's eyes.

Noticing his scrutiny, Edward's eyes flicked over to him, and he flushed a little. "It looks like home," Edward whispered, then suddenly caught himself, and made some generic complaint about the wind in his eyes, making a show of pushing his hair out of his face.

"Your bangs are getting long," Alfons noted. Some of the strands were already long enough to fit into the ponytail. Edward looked startled for a moment, then ran his fingers self-consciously through his hair.

"I suppose you're right," he said.

"I'll cut them for you when we get… well, somewhere convenient," Alfons offered, and Edward agreed. It was less nerve wracking to focus on such inanities as the length of Edward's hair than to think about how the wharves grew ever closer, and the impending need to start their life anew.

---

Several hours later found them standing with their trunks on the wharf. Most of their luggage room had been taken up by Edward's prosthetics, carefully wrapped in clothes for padding. Alfons found himself looking at the trunk apprehensively, the reality only now starting to sink in.

He was in a foreign country where his grasp of the language was none-too-good, all his worldly possessions were in a trunk at his feet, and their money had almost run out. He was homeless, jobless, and practically penniless. Would panicking be useful?

"What do we do now?" he asked Edward apprehensively. This had all been Edward's idea; he sincerely hoped the man had a concrete plan of action.

A grinning Edward answered, with a completely unconvincing mix of cheerfulness and determination, "We find ourselves a gold mine!"

Seeing the look on Alfons' face, Edward sobered. "We need maps, a mode of transportation, food, and some weapons."

Alfons liked how 'a place to stay' didn't even merit the list. "Why weapons?" he

wondered. He didn't even know how to load a gun, much less shoot one.

"So nobody will steal our gold when we find it."

It was nice that Edward was so optimistic.

"For now, though," Edward continued, "A map is probably the most important, so we know where to take a train to."

Edward gestured at the other end of the trunk, and Alfons obediently lifted, then thought better of it. "You can't possibly expect to lug this around all day!"

"You have a point." Letting go of the trunk as well, Edward frowned in perplexity. "I hadn't thought of that."

Alfons crossed his arms in thought. "Can we get a room somewhere?"

"Bloody waste of money."

"Somewhere _cheap_."

"I'm not leaving my _prosthetics_ somewhere _cheap_."

There was silence for a moment.

"I know," Edward said. "You stay with the trunk, I'll go get maps."

Annoyed, Alfons retorted, "Why don't _I_ get the maps?"

"Do you know where we need to go?" Edward raised an eyebrow at him, obviously already knowing the answer.

"I could get _other_ stuff." The protest was rather lame. Alfons sighed. He hated feeling so useless.

"I'll be back later!" Edward called, turning to leave, then paused. "You'll wait for me, right?"

"Where would I go?" Alfons wondered. Edward looked slightly relieved at that, and strode off. There was a disquieting sort of tentativity about Edward lately that Alfons didn't like at all. It seemed almost like Edward was afraid that Alfons might just pick up and leave him with no warning – and Alfons was rather loath to admit, but it was probably his fault that Edward felt that way. Only time could fix the situation.

With another resigned sigh, Alfons sat down on the trunk, feeling rather like a lost pet of some sort. In the end, he settled for allowing his mind to drift, as he watched the activity of the wharf flow around him. People called to each other in English, but also in a host of other languages – Alfons thought he recognized German at some point, and Russian.

Well, he could always keep reviewing the notes on Edward's experimental lamps, which he was going to help develop. Just calling them 'lamps' was unscientific, though. They were… transmitters, certainly. Transmitting radiation-enhanced beams. Hmm…

---

"Alfons!"

The German perked up at the sound of his name, and looked around, to find Edward walking towards him. The sun had already started to sink, lengthening the shadows, and though there was still plenty of light, people were growing scarcer. It was good that Edward had returned; he had been starting to get worried.

"Success?" he asked. Edward grinned, and waved a sheaf of papers at him.

"I got us train tickets to Oklahoma City. I think that'll be a good place to start."

"Where is that?"

"Here." Edward unfolded the map, and pointed to a spot about halfway across the continent. Nice to know they weren't going far.

"I think the geography's a bit different, though," Edward mused, still contemplating the map. "See here," he traced a curve from the top of the United States to the bottom, "there're all these mountains. In my world, it's mostly desert – which there is, along here –" his finger traced across Colorado and New Mexico, "and then Xing would be on the coast, here, where California is. Thing is, I don't think my world has nearly so many mountains in between." Edward paused, his finger poised over the Rocky Mountains, and frowned. "I hope this doesn't make the gold mine harder to find."

Alfons hummed a bit, then raised a problem that had been bothering him for some time. "What if somebody found our mine, already?"

"That would suck." Edward wrinkled his nose. "Well, we could always go for coal or iron ore. I might also be able to find copper or silver, but I don't really remember where those were."

Options were good, Alfons thought, already feeling more comfortable. This venture was turning out to be more realistic than he had initially thought. "So when does the train leave? And where's the station?"

"We've got three hours," Edward answered, then looked at him ruefully. "Which is a good thing. The station is sort of far from here."

They began the long haul to the train station, unwilling to spend precious money on having someone else carry the trunk for them. By the time they got there, with half an hour to spare, Edward was favoring his right foot, the prosthetic, and Alfons was wheezing and reluctantly swallowing the blood he coughed up.

They set the trunk down on the platform with a thud, and both slumped to the ground next to it. Alfons rolled his head sideways to look at Edward, and almost laughed at how they had sat down in practically the exact same position. What a decrepit pair they were.

Edward grinned back at him comfortably. Slowly, Alfons felt the smile fade off his face. People saw what they wanted to see, he thought. In Germany it hadn't been a problem – everybody 'knew' Edward was a crackpot, they 'knew' that Alfons was a perfectly normal guy, and that Alfons and Edward were friends. Nobody looked deeper. But what did the people looking at them _now_ see? He and Edward were extremely relaxed with each other, close in a way that… usually signified there was something _going on_.

"Edward," he began softly, "if we're going to keep…" his voice dropped practically to a whisper, "_us_ a secret, we need an explanation for why we're so close."

Edward nodded slowly in reluctant agreement. Claiming to be brothers was thankfully out of the question, if only because of their different family names and origins, a fact which Alfons was profoundly relieved about.

But – "We could say we're cousins," he suggested. "We do look sort of alike, when you think about it."

From the look on Edward's face it would seem like he really _didn't_ want to think about it.

"Look, it doesn't _mean_ anything," Alfons said. "But if we say that we're cousins on our mothers' sides, it will also explain why I'm German and you're English – yes, I _know_ you're not _really_ English." he overrode Edward's instinctive protest.

"Fine," Edward agreed, slightly huffy.

Silence fell between them, but there was something strained about it, not the camaraderie that Alfons had grown used to. There was something hanging between them, now, present even though they never talked about it.

"Alfons," Edward spoke softly, looking studiously away from Alfons' face. "Do you… are you happy with your decision? I mean, _really_ happy? Because if you want, it's not too late, we can find a way to-"

"Of _course_ I'm happy!" he interrupted quickly. "I _told_ you I wanted to come with you." There was an almost physical ache in his chest, and Alfons found himself wishing they were somewhere alone, where he could _show_ Edward how much he wanted to be with him.

"Okay." The finality in Edward's voice invited no further exploration of the subject.

Alfons didn't try, but some part of him wished they both had the strength to drag everything out into the open once and for all.

They sat together in silence until the train arrived.

---

Oklahoma City was wildly different from Boston. In a sense, Boston had almost felt like a small extension of Germany, in certain places. There were so many people, speaking in so many different languages, that Alfons hadn't really felt a stranger; it seemed like _everybody _was a stranger, there. Upon arriving in Oklahoma, though, Alfons was struck with an immediate sense of disconnection. For the first time, he truly felt that he was in another country.

Unbidden, he looked to Edward for direction. "What do we do now? _Yes_, I _know_ we're going to find a gold mine-" he forestalled Edward's immediate response, "but seriously, what now?"

Edward put his hands and his pockets and looked up and down the almost European-looking street, deep in thought. "We find a place to leave my prosthetics," he said reluctantly.

Well, at least Edward was being sensible.

"Here's what we'll do," Edward said, apparently having reached a decision. "The first reasonable place, I'll leave you to negotiate for keeping the trunk, and I'll go arrange some weapons and transportation." He paused, then continued, "And I'll also leave you a list of stuff we'll need, and some money, and you can get that."

Edward looked at him in silence for a moment, waiting for agreement, and then looked rather confused. "What's with that face?"

Embarrassed, Alfons tried to school his features into a more neutral expression.

"Edward," he said, switching to English, "I do not think I speak English very good."

Of course, Edward wouldn't be _tactful _about the whole business, and had to start snickering. Insulted, Alfons crossed his arms, muttering under his breath, "It _not_ terrible."

"Sorry," Edward said, though it was rather unconvincing, considering he was still smirking. "You're not that bad, it's just your accent is… not that good."

"How am I supposed to negotiate if I can't speak properly?" he demanded, reverting to German. They had stopped walking, and were now standing outside a likely-looking motel.

"Will you get a grip?" Edward rolled his eyes. "So you have a stupid accent. Big fucking deal. It's not like nobody will understand you. You'll be fine, okay?"

Frowning unhappily, Alfons nodded. It wasn't like he had much choice, and he supposed that he had to start getting used to the language anyway.

"So let's say we'll meet back here in….four hours? Around 1:00? And if one of us isn't here yet, then wait around?"

Alfons looked up and down the street, which was a fairly main one, and shrugged.

"Fine. I'll do my best. Good luck."

An honest smile was flashed at him, before Edward tilted his head down to carefully count out what was left of their cash. Alfons noted that at some point Edward had gotten around to exchanging all their money for dollars; they made a disappointingly small pile.

Next, Edward dug around their luggage for a scrap of paper and a pen, and scrawled off a list of things. Maybe Alfons should have offered to have Edward dictate to him, in the interest of legibility, but it was too late now.

"Here." Edward handed over the list and half of their money, gave him a small wave, and wandered off. Alfons was left watching his back pensively for a few minutes.

Somehow, he thought this adventure would be… well, more fun than it had been so far. Right now it was just a whole lot of dealing with difficult, uncomfortable situations.

His eyes fell on the trunk, and he realized what monumental trust Edward had put in him. If anything happened to his prosthetics, Edward would be virtually helpless.

Determined, he clenched his fist, and looked up at the motel. Things would work out. He would make sure of it.

---

Four hours later found him sitting rather gloomily at the edge of the sidewalk, with two packs at his feet. After an embarrassing half-hour of trying to negotiate for a place to keep the trunk, the landlord had finally taken pity on him, and not ripped him off too badly. At least he knew that it should be safe for the next few weeks, and in exchange for relatively little money, though it seemed like a lot, considering they were virtually penniless.

The packs, however, made him more nervous – they were alarmingly empty.

Whatever that stuff was that the storekeeper had sold him and told him it was food looked extremely inedible, though it was supposed to keep. And the blankets hinted that they were going to be sleeping on the ground. Alfons wasn't quite sure how he felt about that. A small lamp, matches, and various other equipment only strengthened Alfons' conclusion that there was going to be quite a bit of roughing it for the next few weeks. Hopefully not months.

"Alfons!"

Looking up, Alfons searched for the source of the voice, and blinked in surprise.

Then he did a double take. _No way_….

His mouth worked soundlessly, and he finally just pointed mutely. Edward looked rather sheepish, and shrugged, his hands occupied by holding the reins of two horses.

"How else are we supposed to get around?" Edward asked defensively. "Besides, you said you grew up in a small town, didn't you have horses?"

"That was years ago," Alfons said weakly, regarding the animals, one black and one brown, comforting himself with the fact that both looked encouragingly docile. "I haven't ridden a horse in years…." He frowned in suspicion. "I didn't know _you _knew how to ride."

Shifting his feet a bit, Edward shrugged again. "Resembool was small. I grew up around animals. I probably haven't forgotten everything." The _I hope_ was almost audible.

"This is crazy." Alfons said, nevertheless reaching up to pat the black, which proved to be a mare. "You didn't get saddles. How are we supposed to ride without saddles?"

Edward mumbled something. Alfons turned to him sharply, and Edward obligingly repeated himself.

"I said, they've been trained bareback."

"And?"

"And we're out of money."

Well, it looked like they were stuck with the horses for a while. Since there wasn't much they could to about it, Alfons knelt next to Edward, and helped him tie the supplies into some sort of pack that could be tied to the horses' backs.

"Do they have names?" Alfons asked.

"The black one is Mussel. The brown one is Ivory."

"Ivory? Why…?"

Edward shrugged in slight exasperation. "Apparently, whoever named her doesn't know what ivory actually is. How should I know?"

The sun was starting to slant low in the sky, though the days were now fairly long, and they still had several hours until sunset. They mounted up, and by now, Alfons knew better than to ask if they were actually setting out immediately.

As Edward would say, why the hell not?

Luckily, they were near the outskirts of town, so there was hardly anybody around to see him the first time he fell off the horse. Embarrassed, bruised, and his legs already starting to ache, Alfons picked himself up resignedly, and got back on.

"How come _you're_ so good at this?" he asked Edward sourly. He would've been pissed off if Edward had laughed at him, but watching Edward suppress his laughter wasn't such an amazing improvement.

"Desperation," Edward said tiredly. "If I fall off and break a prosthetic, I'm screwed. Panic is a very good incentive."

Good point, Alfons thought. He tried pretending that if he fell off the horse he would be permanently crippled, and found that his balance rather improved after that, though he needed to work harder on not hauling on the reins, which made Mussel unhappy, and rightfully so.

By the time they stopped for the night, his thighs and butt were aching terribly, and he could barely walk. It was only a slight comfort that Edward seemed to be as stiff as he was. The night was dark around them, and by the time they were done with brushing down the horses, hobbling them, and making sure they had enough food, it was practically pitch-black.

They stumbled over stones and one another in the dark until Edward got the blankets out, and then they lay down together, sharing some crackers and water because they were both too tired and sore to bother with cooking anything.

The sky was bright with stars above them, the moon half-full, and Alfons felt a strange peace descend on him. Edward's presence by his shoulder was warm and tangible, and Alfons could hear his breathing.

"I still want to go there," he found himself saying, staring up at the far-off pinpoints of light. "Opening a Gate into another dimension is amazing, but… I still want to get up there, someday."

"I know," Edward answered softly. "Maybe we will. The stars in Amestris are very similar, you know."

The quiet pressed in on them, and Alfons felt tiny and inconsequential, shrunk to an insignificant speck in the vastness of the world. How could they possibly do something so unimaginable? he wondered. Breaking open a crack in the universe… the idea sounded absolutely ludicrous. He looked sideways at Edward, studying his profile in the faint light of the moon, which seemed so much stronger out here.

"I almost wish this world _was_ a dream," Edward said softly. "If it was, all I would have to do is wake up."

"Where would the fun in that be?" Alfons found himself asking. For some reason, he no longer felt an ache when Edward talked of this world being a dream. In the end, Edward had chosen _him_, dream or not.

"_Fun_?" Edward asked, his voice sounding strangled.

"It's not all bad, here," Alfons said. "And I don't think that the past few months have been unadulterated suffering for you. Be honest." An odd sort of cheerfulness was bubbling up inside of him, and he really didn't know where it was coming from. The whole adventure thing was starting to appeal to him a lot more, suddenly, though he couldn't imagine why.

He was sore, hungry, penniless, getting ready to fall asleep in the middle of nowhere. There was no logical reason for the excitement he felt at the thought of what they might do tomorrow, what they might find. "I think this is sort of fun, don't you?"

Edward's response was a snort. "I think you're an idiot."

Which, Alfons thought, was probably Edward's way of agreeing.

---

The next morning, when Alfons woke up even stiffer and sorer than the night before, and had to face the prospect of getting back on the horse, his outlook wasn't nearly as cheerful.

* * *

_Oh, and one last thing- **Silverfox**, since you didn't leave an email: This story is AU. Immensely, massively, mind-bogglingly AU, though it wasn't meant to be like that from the beginning. I suppose I really should put a tag in the summary..._

_(I do hope this chapter came out alright, though. I'm quite nervous about it, for some reason)_


	18. Gold Rush

_Thanks for all your patience. See? I said two weeks, and here's the chapter. I hope you enjoy._

* * *

"Now," Edward said, almost preternaturally serious, "pay careful attention. I don't want anybody to get hurt by accident."

Alfons nodded somberly, Edward's mood rubbing off on him, and dropped his eyes to the revolver in Edward's hands.

Despite the distaste Edward had shown toward guns, he seemed remarkably familiar with them, and handled them with confidence. Alfons was mildly jealous.

"This," he pointed to the muzzle, "is where bullets come out. So you don't want to go pointing it at people – Ack!" Edward dodged away from Alfons' fist, but was grinning nonetheless.

"I _know_ where the bullets come out of!" Alfons glowered, and crossed his arms, leaning back against the boulder behind them.

"You have no sense of humor." Contrary to the instructions he had just given, Edward was now holding the gun extremely casually, twirling it around his index finger.

"_You _have no sense of propriety." Miffed as he was, Alfons couldn't help the warm feeling inside of him over the fact that Edward was teasing him. Maybe a new beginning was what they had needed in order to get over the events of the past few months.

"Fine, fine," Edward muttered, though he looked extremely unrepentant. It was still early in the day, so the heat had yet to become unbearable. Upon reaching a nice hill, Edward had declared a stop, and that it was high time Alfons learned to use their weapons.

Alfons shifted closer to Edward again, making sure he had a good view of the gun, as Edward pointed out the different parts, explained their function, and gave him pointers on maintenance. Then Edward showed him how to load bullets and cock the gun. As the explanation wore on, Alfons found himself wrapping firmly around Edward, until his lover was leaning more against him than the rock, and was thoroughly trapped by his arms around his stomach.

"You need to get off of me if I'm going to show you how to fire," Edward said, twisting his head to look at Alfons.

Reluctantly, he allowed Edward to get up, and heaved to his own feet. "Doesn't it just involve pointing it and pulling the trigger?"

Edward blinked, a bit startled, then laughed ruefully. "Pretty much, actually. Just don't try to shoot from the hip – people tend to do that in films, but it doesn't usually work in real life."

Taking careful aim, Edward pulled the trigger, and the shot rang out, echoing slightly amongst the rocks. The bullet hit the rock face, scoring a small hole.

Considering they had no real target, Alfons wasn't quite sure what Edward had been aiming for, but he must have missed, given his disgruntled expression.

"It's the fucking flip," Edward groused. "I'm a crap marksman anyway, and with everything reversed I'm worse than usual." He sighed, considering the gun. It didn't matter that Edward wasn't very partial to guns; he still hated being bad at anything.

"Here." He handed Alfons the weapon. "Now you. Just try to get good quickly. The bullets cost money."

Carefully taking the heavy weapon, Alfons took aim, trying to put his bullet in the hole Edward's had made.

_Bang._ His arm jerked from the recoil, which he hadn't expected, given how Edward had barely flinched from shooting, and he was disappointed to note that the shot had landed wide of his intended mark.

Aiming again, Alfons braced himself for the recoil, and pulled the trigger.

"Look!" he said excitedly. "I almost managed to hit the same place you did!"

"Figures," Edward said, looking mildly discomfited. Alfons ignored him and tried again, until all six bullets had run out. He was rather pleased to discover that he was practically a natural with a gun; Edward was rather miffed, though, in an impersonal sort of way.

"I knew there was a reason I always transmuted machine guns," he said. "Harder to miss with those."

"Machine guns?" Alfons left off admiring the revolver, which he was seriously contemplating naming, to look at Edward.

Edward smirked. "Heh, you like guns, you'd love those. They've got a whole bunch of holes, and can shoot loads of bullets really fast." He paused and shrugged. "That's why I know so much about guns. I researched them for a while. It's a useful thing to know how to transmute. That, and cannons."

Having covered the revolver, Edward moved on to the rifle. Alfons was good at that too, but after a few shots his shoulder was aching from the recoil; it would probably be black-and-blue by evening.

On the way back to where they had tethered the horses, who seemed to take the shooting with the same equanimity they took pretty much everything, Alfons pestered Edward for the theory behind machine guns. It occurred to him that if Edward had wanted to, he could have made a fortune patenting a gun that could shoot several hundred bullets per minute. He shuddered at the thought of a war fought with that sort of weapon, though he found himself rather keen about seeing a gun like that. Maybe he'd ask Edward to transmute one for him once they got to Amestris.

Startled at the thought, Alfons paused. Edward continued on for a few more steps, noticed that Alfons was no longer beside him, and turned back in perplexity.

He was really going, Alfons thought. They were going to build an array, and he was going to continue his life in a different world. For the first time, an 'after' featured in his thoughts, and the prospect made him actually excited.

"Alfons?"

Snapped out of his reverie, Alfons looked at Edward with a bemused smile. Edward tilted his head a bit in confusion, his hair fluttering against one sunburned cheek. These past few weeks Edward had tanned nicely, his skin acquiring a pretty golden-brown tone, and traces of sunburn were visible across the bridge of his nose and the back of his neck.

Alfons had been rather disappointed to discover that he just burned and peeled, and there was absolutely nothing comfortable, much less attractive, about it.

Sauntering over, he tugged Edward to him, and pressed their lips together. Nowadays Edward smelled (and almost tasted) like a combination of sweat, dust, and horse. There was absolutely no reason for Alfons to find any of it attractive, but he did (not that he smelt any different, of course…).

Maybe he was still compensating for when Edward had adamantly refused to kiss him at all.

Edward responded willingly, but when he reached a hand around to the back of Alfon's neck, Alfons broke off with a yelp. "Watch the sunburn!"

"Sorry."

Gingerly, Alfons prodded at the area a bit, unable to overcome the strange psychological imperative that said that if he rubbed it then it might hurt less. Edward tugged his hand away, shaking his head.

"That only makes it worse."

"I _know_," Alfons sighed.

Crossing his arms, Edward frowned at him. "I've _told_ you a thousand times, you should keep your head covered."

"I am not tying a shirt around my head like… like some Arab or something!" Alfons retorted indignantly. There was a limit to how ridiculous he was willing to look.

"Did you miss the part where we're in the middle of fucking _nowhere_? Nobody's going to see you!"

"_You_ will."

"And I think you look like more of a moron burned all over than if you had a stupid shirt

tied around your head!" Edward snapped. "And then you bitch all night about how disgusting the petroleum jelly feels on your face."

"It does," Alfons muttered petulantly, feeling almost hypocritical, because the stuff was amazingly convenient for _other_ activities. Come to think of it, maybe that was one of the sources of his reluctance to have it all over his face.

Apparently deciding he had won, Edward began rummaging in Mussel's packs, pulled out Alfons' spare shirt, and tossed it at him. With a resigned sigh, Alfons folded it into an approximation of something useful, and did his best to tie it around his head in a way that would shield his neck.

"If you laugh, I'm going to kill you," he told Edward grimly. It must be duly noted that Edward did his absolute best to keep a straight face. After several minutes during which Edward bit his lip and breathed through his nose, and the look on Alfons' face grew ever blacker, Edward finally got control of himself, and managed to shakily suggest that he tie it for Alfons. Because he could see what he was doing, and Alfons couldn't.

The result was a shirt tied around his head in hopefully the most dignified way possible, and he had to admit that it did a fairly good job at keeping the sun off his neck.

They mounted up and rode in a north-westerly direction – or at least, in a direction Edward claimed was north-westerly, because Alfons honestly had no clue – for the rest of the day. Towards evening, Edward convinced Alfons to try and shoot a hare the next time one popped up, and after a few tries, the German was successful in hitting one.

The result was roasted hare for dinner, which was a nice way of saying "held over the fire while Alfons argued with Edward about how long it should cook, resulting in charred meat".

-  
Over the next weeks they continued wandering. As time passed, their clothes grew increasingly more threadbare and torn, because they had neglected to bring anything resembling a needle with them, and they had no money to buy new ones in the infrequent times they stopped at towns. Edward made noises every so often about making a needle out of bone and maybe using hare skin to patch their clothes. Thankfully, nothing ever came of these ideas. On the whole, Alfons preferred to wear torn clothes rather than look like a complete wild-man. And anyway, every so often some kind soul would offer them his castoffs, or a nice housewife would do a bit of patching for them, while her husband consented to lend his razor for an hour.

Alfons was rather surprised at the fact that he was rather enjoying the whole thing. After the first few weeks, his legs had toughened up, and their diet left the both of them lean.

At night they would invent math problems for each other to solve, just to keep their minds honed, and would discuss rocketry, as well as theories for the lamps they would build. It was during one of these discussions that Alfons finally lit upon an idea of what they would call their hypothetical creations.

"You're already looking to name them?" Edward snorted, seated cross-legged in the flickering shadows of their tiny camp. "We haven't even built a real prototype. You can't name an invention that hasn't been invented yet."

"But we've got the theory down almost perfectly, and all your experiments have been going really well," Alfons protested. "And listen, I've got a good idea." It had been coalescing in his mind over many hours of thought, and a lot of work with Edward on improving his English. "Monochromatic Oscillation-Enhanced Projectors."

"'MOEP'?" Edward asked incredulously. "We can't call them Moeps. That sounds moronic. You do know what 'mope' means, right? Well, it sounds like that."

Alfons frowned, and poked the tiny fire contemplatively. "Monochromatic Oscillation Enhanced-"

"And anyway," Edward interrupted, "Monochromatic Oscillation Enhanced Projectors of _what_?"

"Light, of course," Alfons said impatiently.

"Well, you have to _say_ that."

"Monochromatic Oscillation-Enhanced Projectors of Light?"

"MOEPL? That's _worse_." Edward snorted. "You're crap at this."

"Thank you so much." Alfons tossed a charred bone at Edward, but it flew wide.

"Skip the 'projector'. How about…." Edward thought a moment, "Radiator? Transmitter? Emitter?"

Alfons constructed the word in his head. "MOERL?"

"Move the 'light' to before the 'radiator'."

"MOELR?" Alfons grinned at Edward. "You're no better than I am." The tiny fire threw deep shadows across Edward's face, made deeper when his drew his brows together in a frown. But his eyes blazed golden, reflecting the light in a most alluring way.

"MOELT," Edward offered, then tilted his head. "No, that O-E combination is bad. How about if we drop the 'e'?"

"MOLT?"

"Dammit," Edward said. "Molting is what birds do. That sounds stupid."

Alfons sighed, and flopped to his side, propping his head up on his arm. Molt wasn't so awful. At least it was pronounceable, right? "It fits because... because we're trying to find our freedom with these things. Like birds are free," he tried.

Retrieving the bone Alfons had tossed at him earlier, Edward chucked it back at him.

"Alfons, you have absolutely no future in literature."

"Lucky I'm in science then, no?" He smiled, looking up at Edward. "Come on, Molt isn't so bad. We haven't come up with anything better, have we?"

"Ah, what the hell," Edward finally conceded. "Molt it is, if you're happy with that."

Alfons wasn't sure, but it seemed to him that naming their yet-to-be-built invention had cheered Edward up a bit. If their search went on much longer, he knew it was only a matter of time before Edward started growing anxious. Even small things like this gave them both a feeling that they were still moving forward, kept them from getting bogged down in the day-to-day living.

Had either of them ever studied literature, or cared to contemplate the metaphor more thoroughly, it might have occurred to them that molting is a _loss_ of feathers in preparation for winter, and that as such, the symbolism could be considered rather bleak.

---

The terrain became more arid and rockier the further they got from Oklahoma City, though the route they chose was circuitous and wandering in no pre-specified direction.

Mostly they just roamed, following Edward's instincts (or occasional lack thereof) while trying to find any bit of landscape that seemed remotely familiar to him.

At long last, months into the trip, Edward finally claimed that they were in the right place, which brought about their next challenge: convincing the landowners, whoever they happened to be, to sign off a share of whatever gold might be found.

To Alfon's surprise, it was much easier than expected, though for a rather discouraging reason. Most of the men they talked to were cheerfully confident that there was no chance at all that any gold would be found anyway, so they didn't mind signing over the rights to half of the hypothetical findings.

"You're a hundred years too late, and in the wrong area to boot," one man laughingly told them. "But if traipsing about my hills like vagabonds makes you happy, go ahead. You seem harmless enough."

Edward refused to be daunted.

"The whole _point_ is that it's a freak vein," he told Alfons later. "Which is why the chances of it being undeveloped are fairly high."

Their travels only grew more complicated from there on, because they were forced to hunt around for landowners for every likely-looking patch of land. Edward refused to risk losing rights to the mine when they found it because of something silly like trespassing.

---

They wandered up the Arkansas River, and decided to take a break one afternoon to do some laundry in the shallows. When on the road, it turned out that the most convenient way to wash clothes was to simply jump in, so the laundry could double as a shower.

Knee-deep in the river, they splashed and wrestled each other until they were thoroughly soaked, and then tramped out to strip and drape their clothes on nearby rocks and bushes to dry. Alfons was rather nervous about burning even more, and went over to sit in the shade. After a few minutes Edward came to join him, and he couldn't suppress a grin at the ridiculous tan-lines across Edward's body. While his face, arms, and neck were tanned darkly, the rest of his torso was still light.

"What?" Edward asked defensively. Alfons grinned, and slid one hand up the pale curve of Edward's human shoulder, and tugged at the wet strands of his hair.

"You're like a pretzel," Alfons told him.

Staring at him silently for a few minutes, Edward finally decided that the only viable response was to raise an incredulous eyebrow.

"It's very scientific. Look," Alfons said, and rolled Edward over on the ground, folding his limbs in one of the positions that would probably break his own back, but didn't even make Edward flinch. "You tie in knots like a pretzel, and you're brown like a pretzel. And," he kissed Edward's elbow and flicked his tongue across it, "You're tasty like a pretzel."

Edward wriggled away from Alfons, looking stricken. "Holy shit, I think you have sunstroke. Stay here, I'm going to get you water."

"I'm not…" Alfons protested, but Edward had already run off, to return almost immediately with a bottle.

"Drink!" he commanded.

"I don't-"

"Drink!" Practically shoving the bottle in his face, Edward refused to let up until Alfons gave in and took a few swallows.

"For goodness' sake, Edward, I was _flirting_," he groaned, having an odd feeling of deja-vu.

Flopping down again next to him, Edward splayed his legs out and leaned back against the tree, and Alfons wondered if he knew how nice he looked, sitting there naked like that.

"Not this _again_," Edward sighed. "Remember what we decided last time? Skip the saying-stupid-things part. If you want to fuck, just _say so_, and save time."

But, Alfons thought, if he did that, he wouldn't get to see the incredibly amusing faces Edward made. So what if he was crap at flirting?

"Pretzel," he commented.

"Argh!" Edward tore at his hair, kicking his legs a bit.

See? Why exactly would Alfons want to deprive himself of such an amusing spectacle?

Recovering, Edward thrust the bottle in Alfons' face again. "I'm still not convinced you don't have sunstroke. Finish it."

Meekly, Alfons downed the rest of it. Then he deliberately set the bottle aside, noting Edward's slightly anxious expression. He smiled sweetly.

"MY pretz"

The word was cut off by Edward's tongue in his mouth, having apparently decided that this was the only sure-fire way to get Alfons to stop. Unable to prevent the smile threatening at the corners of his lips, and with a lapful of Edward, Alfons wrapped his arms around his lover, rubbing against him firmly.

He truly had the best of both worlds; he got to see Edward's amusing exasperated faces, and he got the sex too. Lousy flirting was definitely the way to go.

---

The hot sun beat down on them, and they had been hiking for over an hour. The terrain around them was mostly unwooded, so there wasn't nearly enough shade, and the dry ground under their feet was rocky and pebble-strewn. They had been forced to leave the horses about a kilometer back for fear they would stumble, and were now carrying all the hardware on their backs.

"Edward, what happened to 'rest and relaxation' for me?" Alfons panted. Ever since they had started the heavy hiking, Edward had scrupulously taken all of the hardest work upon himself, in deference to Alfons' lungs. He had also tried to give Alfons the lion's share of the food, but Alfons had put his foot down at that; his was a chronic condition, and he refused to be coddled overmuch. Even so, he had yet to get used to this sort of exertion.

His muscles had adapted to long hours on horseback, and it was taking them time to adjust to long hours of walking.

"Quit whining," Edward shot back. "We're almost there." Shielding his eyes, Edward looked around, then set off once again towards the low cliff face looming near them.

With a reluctant sigh, Alfons plodded on after him.

This was probably their third month of travel, and Alfons was beginning to worry about what would happen once the summer ended, and they seemed no closer to finding their gold mine than they had a month ago, when Edward had first gotten excited.

Edward, damn him, seemed to have boundless amounts of energy, though.

"This is it!" Edward suddenly shouted in excitement. "Xenotime!"

"What? Where?" Alfons looked around dully. He was pretty sure Edward had mentioned Xenotime before, but he was too tired to remember when.

"I mean," Edward explained, "this is definitely the area where in my world, there was a town called Xenotime, who were sitting right on a really rich vein of gold."

A smile crept onto Alfons' face at Edward's enthusiasm, and the fact that it had _worked_. They had found their gold. Unless, of course, by some freak twist it was the same area, but minus the mineral.

"And it's undeveloped!" Edward said enthusiastically, apparently not considering anything going wrong. "Nobody here for kilometers around. It's going to be ours!"

"And Michaels'," Alfons felt obliged to point out. He was the current landowner Edward had made a deal with. If they found valuable ore, the proceeds would be split fifty-fifty with Edward and Alfons, though for some reason Edward had driven a much more detailed bargain with this one. Almost as if he had known this would be the day….

"And Michaels'," Edward said dismissively.

When they finally reached the base of the cliff, Alfons sank down gratefully in the shade and started drinking. Edward looked at him slightly guiltily.

"You don't look so good…"

No shit, Alfons thought ungraciously. Though the sunburn had lessened, he still wasn't built for this climate, and the hiking was tough. The dust around definitely wasn't doing his lungs any good, either. But he only shrugged, foregoing talk.

Edward dropped his pack by Alfons, and grabbed a pick. "I'm going to see what I can find."

"Take a torch," Alfons suggested. "Remember what happened last time, when you stumbled into that cave."

Shuddering at the memory, Edward complied, and soon walked off along the cliff bottom, occasionally inspecting the rock.

It was quiet, the kind of quiet Alfons hadn't experienced much between when he had leftt his hometown and when they had started their roaming through America. The sky was a faded sort of blue, with small clouds here and there. Around him were the sounds of nature – the wind in the patches of long grass and over rocks, cicadas, but most of all silence.

Within minutes, Alfons was fast asleep.

---

He woke to a dirt-covered and quite annoyed Edward nudging him with his boot.

"You're supposed to be keeping watch!" Edward accused.

"…Sorry," Alfons mumbled guiltily, trying to orient himself.

"Sorry won't cut it if someone decides to steal our gold!" Edward efficiently checked their bullet status, and tossed a revolver at Alfons, who picked the gun up with a sigh.

"There's nobody around for kilometers… wait a minute," Alfons suddenly registered Edward's words, "Our gold? You mean you found it?"

A smug grin made its way onto Edward's face. "Yeah." He showed Alfons a rock, with unmistakable golden glints in it.

"Wow," Alfons stared, mesmerized. "You're sure it's not pyrite?" They had had several false alarms already.

Flopping down next to him, Edward huffed in annoyance. "Give me some credit for knowledge of mineral structure, will you? It's the real deal."

"Wow," Alfons said again. "And there's more?"

In response, Edward pulled several more pieces of rock out of his pockets, the gold flashes clearly visible.

"Wow," said Alfons. _Gold_. A whole minesful- and half of it was _theirs_!

"Stop repeating yourself."

Of course, _Edward_ was far above such petty feelings as excitement over the prospect of large quantities of gold.

"Shut up. Not all of us are used to having lots of cash at our disposal," Alfons complained.

"Well," Edward grinned over at him, "_get_ used to it."

"Mmm." Alfons reached over and tugged Edward to him. It was a nice day, and they were going to be rich, and build a portal into another world. Life was good.

"Hey!" Edward protested, trying to wriggle out of Alfons grasp. "You don't want to touch me, I'm sweaty and filthy-"

Alfons kissed him slowly, one hand curving around Edward's neck, which was gritty with dust, the other on his damp back. Two days' growth of beard was scratchy against his chin, though he was hardly in better shape. After a long moment, Alfons pulled away and spat.

"You taste like dirt." It was a pity, really, that a rugged Edward looked so delicious, yet that same ruggedness usually came with dirt, and eating dirt was not high on Alfons list of 'sexy'.

Now Edward just looked mildly aggravated. "I told you not to." He rolled off of Alfons and stretched for a moment, arching his back and twisting his neck to get rid of the kinks.

The bastard was doing it on purpose, Alfons knew. The way the shirt stuck to Edward's back was nearly making him drool and Alfons decided that a little dirt really shouldn't be such a deterrent.

"Since I know you're feeling terribly guilty over making me traipse all the way out here, I thought of a few ways you could make it up to me," he suggested hopefully.

Edward made a noncommittal sound and stood up.

"Nice try, but I think that killing my back digging up gold is penance enough."

Drat.

"I'm going back in, I'll see if there's any more easily-accessible rocks lying around. This time," Edward frowned at him, "_please_ try to keep watch properly?"

"I will, I will." To prove his point, Alfons pulled out the rifle (which had more reach than the revolver, in case they were attacked by particularly vicious rabbits) and climbed up on top of a rock which gave him a fairly good view of the area. "See? I'm watching."

"Good."

He watched Edward climb back down to the base of the cliff, heading for a small crack in the cliff face. Was that their mine?

"Hey, Edward," he called out. "It's really hot out. Why don't you take off your shirt?" Smiling innocently at Edward's eye rolling, he added, "It'll give me an incentive to watch carefully."

"You're not supposed to be watching _me_." Edward continued on, then paused again.

"Alfons, what's gotten into you? Lately you've been acting… odd."

_Aww,_ Alfons thought. It was nice that Edward had never really managed to get over his blushing problem.

"It's just us, here," he answered. "I like being able to say whatever I want to you, whenever I want, without anybody minding."

He thought he heard Edward mumble something along the lines of "_I_ sort of mind…", but there was no real emotion behind the words.

"I mean," he said, inspired, "I could even shout it!"

"Augh! No! Don't!" Practically running, Edward escaped towards the cliff. "I don't know you! Just… just fucking look out for strangers!"

Alfons settled himself on the rock comfortably, and snickered to himself. Life was good.

---

Evening found them with far too many rocks to be able to carry in one go, much less load onto the horses. They had a brief argument during which it was confirmed that neither of them could really stomach the thought of leaving gold lying around, and that they were actually both on the same side, so what the hell were they arguing about, again?

Their agreement established, Edward left Alfons to keep watch on their things while he made the trek back and forth. By the time enough of the stuff had been transferred and Alfons joined him on the last hike, Edward was walking with a pronounced limp, though he refused to complain.

"Let me carry your pack, it's heavier than mine," Alfons offered. Edward just grunted and shook his head.

"I've been practically lazing around all day, and you've been working. I can carry it."

"You're sick," Edward said shortly.

"You're limping," Alfons retorted. "What if you trip? Carrying you to the camp will be a lot more difficult than just your pack."

"We're almost there."

Alfons sighed. He hadn't expected to succeed, Edward was too stubborn for that, but at least he had tried.

When they finally reached the horses it was almost full dark out. By now Edward no longer really cared about packing things nicely, and just dropped things in messy piles on the ground.

Given how dark it was, there was no chance they would try and press on that night and risk possibly laming the horses, much less getting lost. Edward claimed to be able to navigate by the stars, but as Alfons had pointed out the one time they had tried and ended up lost, the stars here were subtly different from the ones in Edward's world.

Alfons waited patiently while Edward dug out the blankets, and handed him an armful of fabric.

The routine was already familiar to them. Alfons spread out several layers of blankets on a relatively rock-free patch of ground, and Edward brought out an only-slightly-stale hunk of bread and some carrots for dinner.

"Want me to rub your back?" Alfons offered, noting the stiffness of Edward's movements. Edward nodded vehemently, so Alfons set about ridding Edward of his shirt and prosthetic, which still worked, amazingly enough, though it had developed a whole host of odd involuntary twitches.

His friend immediately flopped onto his stomach, allowing Alfons complete access to his back. It had taken a long time until Edward became comfortable with being touched when his prosthetics were off let alone allowing Alfons to remove them, and Alfons still got a heady rush from the sheer trust it exhibited. Gently, he trailed his fingertips across Edward's broad back, feeling the tight muscles. Edward shifted and made a hopeful sound, and Alfons set out to get rid of the tension.

He knew nothing about massaging, but he had found that if he used the proper combination of digging his fingers in and pounding with the heels of his hands, he could reduce Edward to a happy, pliant puddle of goo. Post-backrub Edward was also so content that he made no protest when Alfons pulled him against his chest, and just cuddled up to him in a way that he probably never would when his brain was possessing of its higher functions.

Alfons found himself dangerously close to thinking that he really didn't need anything more in life.

"It's working," Edward suddenly blurted out, making Alfons look at him curiously.

"I know that it's been tough on you, and you weren't really happy, but it's going to get better, I promise."

"Huh?" Alfons managed, completely blindsided.

"So I just wanted to say thanks for putting up with me, because I know it's not so easy always –"

"Edward –"

"And I do appreciate you, really –"

"_Edward!_" The discussion was making him rather nervous. What was wrong? From the way Edward was talking, you'd think they were planning on separating sometime soon or something, and Alfons didn't like that thought at all. Not to mention the fact that this sudden bout of apologies was rather odd, to say the least. "What's wrong? Haven't I told you that I've been rather enjoying this?"

Edward tilted his head up a bit to meet Alfons' eyes in the darkness. "I… I just don't want you to think this is how it's always going to be. In case you got tired of everything."

Resting a hand gently on Edward's hip, Alfons smiled reassuringly. "I'm not tired of this yet… though I will admit that I won't miss the mosquitoes. Seriously, though, what's bothering you?"

"Nothing," Edward sighed, looking away.

Alfons decided against pressing, and instead opted for a change of subject. "You don't think Michaels will make trouble, do you?" Maybe Edward was just nervous. They had signed an agreement, but some people got greedy when presented with lots of money.

"I hope not," was Edward's response. "We really don't need that sort of shit right now."


	19. If I Were A Rich Man

I'm sorry, I'm sorry! I tried, I swear, I did my best... can I give you excuses? I was sick...  
um... e-cookies for anybody who knows where the chapter title is from?

* * *

The dark smudge of a town was visible on the horizon, growing steadily larger. As Alfons watched their destination near, he felt as if a wave of gloom was growing almost exponentially inside him.

It was horribly selfish of him, but he found himself oddly reluctant to rejoin the rest of humanity. The freedom of the past few months would be lost to them; once again, they would be beholden to the rules and restrictions of society.

Once again, he would have to school himself to hide his feelings, his affection, buried deep where nobody would sense it, for fear of censure.

Alfons nudged Mussel with his heels, and the mare trotted up next to Ivory, so close that his knees knocked against Edward's.

"Something wrong?" Edward asked curiously.

Alfons shook his head, still gripping Mussel's sides with his knees, and leaned over to kiss Edward. It had taken them some practice until they could do it on horseback without either of them falling off, but now they bridged the gap between the horses comfortably, and the horses continued walking, unperturbed.

"Serve you right to hit a tree, with how often you do that instead of watching the road," Edward grumbled, though there was no real annoyance in his tone.

"Ah, but you see, that's the beauty of horses, as opposed to cars. They actually have the sense to avoid trees."

Edward let out a slightly exasperated sigh, but Alfons knew better than to take it seriously.

After a few more minutes of riding, Alfons piped up again. "I'm hungry."

"We can have lunch once we get to town," Edward answered.

"Let's eat now."

"We don't _have_ anything," Edward said patiently.

"It's not like we have any money to buy food anyway," Alfons pointed out. "And we should have a few carrots left."

Falling silent, Edward shot him a calculating look, and Alfons wondered if he was being too transparent. Maybe he should have phrased it differently, more along the lines of, 'hey Edward, let's fuck one last time before we rejoin civilization'. Edward could usually be counted on to cooperate in that sort of situation.

"I know what this is about," Edward suddenly said with the self-satisfied air of someone who had just solved a complicated problem.

Whoops. Apparently he _had_ been too transparent.

"It's your stomach, isn't it?"

Um.

"… I did say I was hungry," Alfons said, nonplussed. "That usually involves the stomach."

"No, no!" Edward waved his hand impatiently. "I meant _this,_" and he poked Alfons' side, making him jump. "Your stomach is flat. You like the fact that you can actually see muscles. So you think if we stay out here longer, you'll look better."

His mouth working helplessly for a minute, Alfons finally managed to stammer a denial.

This did not impress Edward, who snorted. "Oh please. You think I didn't notice you admiring your reflection in the water every so often? With your shirt off?"

"I _never-_" Alfons sputtered.

"And how about how you poke your thighs and look all smug, or flex your biceps when you think I'm not looking?"

"I don't!" He hadn't _ever_… well, maybe once or twice… and his muscles _had_ developed a pleasing level of definition lately….

Edward laughed, and poked him again. "That's okay, I think you look good now, too."

A surprised smile sneaked onto his face before he noticed. Edward thought he looked good!

Fine, so it was silly to be so excited about it, considering that Edward's behavior should be enough of an indicator of the fact that he was quite attracted to Alfons, but it was still nice to hear him say something every so often.

Yet, hidden in that compliment…. "Are you saying that I didn't look so good before?" he asked suspiciously.

Edward tilted his head, and stared off into space for a moment. "Well, you were chubbier in Germany," he mused.

"Chubbier?" Alfons said weakly, the rush of happy confidence in his looks quickly starting to recede.

Clueing in to his tone of voice, Edward looked at him worriedly. "I never said there was anything wrong with chubby!" he quickly amended.

He knew he hadn't been in the best of shape, but what was he supposed to do? "I thought I had consumption!" Alfons said defensively. "The doctor said I shouldn't overdo it! And-"

"Look, here's a nice spot, let's stop for lunch!" Edward interrupted, speaking quickly and rather nervously.

Since it was a topic of discussion probably prudently discarded, Alfons didn't press, but dismounted next to Edward.

The lunch was as meager and pathetic as Edward had prophesized, consisting of a few carrots, which they ended up sharing half of with the horses, and some forgotten biscuits. It left them both profoundly unsatisfied, but at least they had one last opportunity to sit close together without worrying about anybody else.

"You know," Edward said, a bit anxiously once they were done, "You really do look fine. I mean, you're one-up on _me_, no matter how you look at it," he was rather self-conscious, and looked away from Alfons. "You're not missing any limbs."

What was he supposed to say to that? Alfons wondered helplessly. He couldn't say that he didn't mind, because _Edward_ certainly minded, and because honestly, of _course_ he would prefer an Edward with all his limbs over one missing them, if only because Edward would be so much happier. And he couldn't _agree_ with Edward, because that would just be a horribly nasty thing to do.

In the end he went for the third option, which was really what he wanted to do in the first place, and went to kneel facing Edward, tugging at the front of his pants.

It was the right choice; Edward let out a small exhalation, and threaded his fingers happily through Alfons' hair, moaning a soft encouragement.

Sometimes the best way to deal with Edward's issues was by ignoring them, and thus proving that they were simply _non_-issues.

---

They were no longer alone on the road, now, as they neared the roads leading to and from Lakin. With every step of the horses, Alfons felt more self-conscious and aware of their scruffy, dirty state. The fact that they collected not a few rather suspicious looks didn't help. True, this was ranching area, and as such there were plenty of dusty people wearing well-worn clothes around, but Alfons felt that he and Edward could probably set a new standard for shabbiness.

Uncertain, he looked over at Edward, wondering if it bothered him as much. Though it probably didn't, given how, horrible as it might sound, Edward was used to being thought of as a lunatic.

"The shirt," Edward suddenly said, motioning at his head with one hand.

"Huh?" Alfons raised a hand uncertainly to his head, and encountered fabric. Oh. _Oh_.

Mortified, he tore the shirt off his head, rolled it into a ball, and stuffed it among the packs on Mussel's back. He had been wearing it for so long, he had forgotten it was there.

"Oh God," he mumbled.

Edward nudged Ivory closer, to kick Alfons' ankle. "Don't be melodramatic. Nobody saw you."

Yes, some people actually _had_, but Alfons supposed it really didn't matter. Hopefully they would be leaving here soon, never to return.

Fifteen more minutes of riding took them into the small city, but their destination was on the outskirts to the other side, where Michaels had his ranch.

"Does Amestris look anything like this?" Alfons asked curiously, taking in the smallish houses, no more than two stories, and the cheerful red-brick sidewalk.

Tilting his head in contemplation, Edward thought for a minute, then shrugged. "Not so much, actually. I don't think I've ever seen a brick sidewalk in Amestris. It… it's _different_," he said helplessly. "The history is different, it influenced the architecture and stuff differently, I dunno."

Curious, Alfons thought. It would probably be interesting to do a comparative study of the parallel areas in the two worlds, though such a project would take hundreds of people several lifetimes to just scratch the surface. He snorted at the train of thought.

Given that transportation between the worlds was nigh impossible, it was a moot point, anyway.

They were riding alongside fields now, with herds of cattle grazing here and there. The wind was warm, blowing Alfons' bangs into his eyes, and he brushed them away absently. He really could use a haircut.

"Do you see him?" Edward craned his head around, trying to see if any of the people that could be seen riding around looked like Michaels. There was no real point in going to his house; he probably wouldn't be in at this time of day.

Looking around as well, Alfons tried to see if any of the people matched Michaels' solid build and dark hair. Spying a likely candidate (though it was hard to tell, under the hat), Alfons called Edward's attention to him, and they both rode in that direction, weaving around the placid cows.

Alfons hailed him once he was sure they were headed for the right person, and Michaels raised an arm in greeting.

"I confess I weren' expectin' t' see you boys agin," he said, when they drew near.

Darn, Alfons had forgotten how difficult it had been for him to understand the man's accent. His English, though it had improved no end under Edward's tutelage, was still not quite up to understanding people who drawled that way.

Edward grinned, and slid off the horse, to land rather unsteadily. Alfons likewise dismounted, and managed to suppress his immediate instinct to support Edward. His lover wouldn't appreciate it, and certainly not in front of a stranger.

"Rather skeptical of our chances of success, were you?" Edward asked challengingly.

Michaels shrugged, and wiped a handkerchief across his forehead. "People been talkin' 'bout you, up 'n down this section of th' Arkansas. Y'even made it inta one o' the local papers. They advised anybody missin' the old days t' look you up."

Great, Alfons thought. Now he was the town fool in newspapers, too. Or at least, he would have been, if their search hadn't paid off.

"Well, the joke's on them," Edward said, pulling out a rock and tossing it to Michaels.

The man caught it easily and inspected it in the sunlight, doing a visible double-take when the golden glints flashed brightly.

"Well, I'll be," he said, shaking his head in slight disbelief. "You sure this's real gold?"

"We're chemists," Alfons assured him, exchanging a slightly smug look with Edward. It was close enough to the truth anyway.

Leaning back heavily against the wooden fence at his back, Michaels took off his had to run his fingers through his hair. "M'daddy staked a claim on that land," he said, sounding a bit dazed. "He always said it was th' most worthless piece o' dirt on God's earth. Never got a scrap o' use out of it, 'n we ended up movin' here. 'N yer tellin' me I been sittin' on a gold mine this whole time?"

"Yep," Edward announced cheerfully. "Though please remember you only own half of it, as of now."

There was a pregnant silence, and Alfons held his breath. They had signed a contract, just in case there would be problems, but he really hoped they wouldn't have to start bothering with the law in order to enforce their claim.

"Tell me," Michaels said, "what would young men like you need with ownin' that sort o' thing?"

Alfons exchanged a look with Edward and shrugged, showing that he would go along with whatever he chose to tell.

"We're scientists," Edward said finally. "The money is going to fund our research."

Michaels inspected them. "Y'don't _look_ like scientists." The statement didn't really need an answer, so neither of them spoke. The rancher frowned. "Lessee that contract."

When Edward produced it, Michaels spent a minute perusing it, black eyes following the meticulous lines of text. Alfons wasn't worried; the contract was solid, and would hold up in a court, if it came to that.

"This's a mighty detailed agreement," he commented finally. "'N you say you never been on my land? You wrote all this without even knowin' whether or not you'd find th' mine?"

Edward laughed, the kind of laugh that usually heralded saying something crazy. Alfons only had a split second to register that fact, and realize that he would have no chance of clamping a hand over Edward's mouth before he spoke.

"The minute I saw your face, I knew we'd find the mine on your land. My life is one big fucking cosmic joke."

Unsure whether he was supposed to be offended or not, Michaels shot a look at Alfons, who shrugged helplessly, signifying that he had no clue what Edward was talking about, though he was now beginning to think that Michaels must be the parallel of somebody from Edward's world.

"Well," Michaels said, albeit a bit mournfully, "A deal's a deal. You got yourselves half a gold mine."

Before he knew what he was doing Alfons let out a whoop of victory, and then Edward was laughing and pounding him on the back, and Alfons scuffed his knuckles through Edward's hair. They were toeing a dangerous line, and for the rest of his life, Alfons would never know how they managed to keep from kissing each other at that moment, but the embrace never moved out of the strictly acceptable area.

An ecstatic grin was on Edward's face, and Alfons wasn't sure, but there might have been a hint of tears. He turned his attention to Michaels, who was still perusing the contract, determined to keep the man's attention long enough for Edward to compose himself.

"Says here you get a finder's fee uva hun'erd 'n fifty bucks," Michaels pointed out. "That's a lot o' money."

"The expense will probably be covered by the rocks we brought back," Alfons assured him.

Looking at the two of them curiously, Michaels shook his head. "Never thought I'd see the day when a Brit would be pals with a Heine. Oh well," he suddenly cheered up, and clapped Alfons on the back, "Yer alright. Had the sense t' leave them warmongers behind."

_Warmongers?_ His people, who were now fighting to eke out an existence despite the crippling treaties? His Germany, who had been – _and would yet be _– the height of world culture? He was about to open his mouth and tell Michaels all this and more, when Edward stamped on his foot, hard. Alfons looked at him furiously, but Edward shook his head.

Swallowing, Alfons forced out one of the most difficult sentences of his life. "Y-yeah. I'm here now." Ashamed, he dropped his eyes. Traitor, that's what he was.

Apparently not noticing the exchange, Michaels went to untie his horse, and mounted up. "Come on down, and I'll give ya th' money," he said, appearing rather cheerful. Alfons felt like punching him.

Nevertheless, he and Edward mounted up to follow Michaels back to the ranch.

Thankfully, Edward rejected Michaels' offer of staying the night, and said they needed to be going anyway. They would get some new clothes and clean up on the way. There was more talk, of details and bank accounts and transferring funds and whatnot, but Alfons spent the time mostly staring at the wall and fuming. He trusted Edward to work out the fine points, and he was afraid that if he opened his mouth he would say something regrettable.

None too soon for his tastes they were ready to leave, and were shaking Michaels' hand at the door. Alfons forced himself to be polite, and not try to crush the man's hand.

"Good-bye Mr. Michaels," he said, keeping his voice level.

"If we're goin' t'be partners, there's no need fer that," he said cheerfully. "Call me Roy."

Alfons nodded and repeated the man's name, and was thankful when Edward pulled him away. They climbed back up on the horses, and soon enough were down the dirt road, headed back towards town.

Edward had a wry sort of look on his face, though he looked oddly cheerful. In order to take his mind off Germany, Alfons inquired as to who Roy Michaels was in Edward's world.

Shaking his head slightly, Edward smiled wistfully, and shrugged. "It's not important."

It wasn't like Edward owed it to him, Alfons thought. If Edward didn't want to tell, he didn't have to. But it didn't keep him from feeling a bit sore over being left out, not to mention annoyed that his attempt at distracting himself had failed.

"That bastard," he said darkly, clenching his fists on the reins. "Where does he get off, badmouthing Germany?"

"You did say that America and Germany were at war," Edward said uncertainly. "Wouldn't his reaction make sense, given that they were enemies?"

"I don't care," Alfons said crossly. Why did Edward always have to try and insert logic into things? "He thought I don't love Germany anymore. I…" he trailed off, pained. What could he say? In the eyes of anybody who looked at him, it would seem that he had betrayed his country.

And he _had_. Even if he had a good reason, even if he didn't regret it (much), it didn't change the facts.

"Alfons," Edward said hesitantly, "if you want…. There's lots of money now, you could go-"

"God_damn_ it, Edward!" Alfons snarled, jerking around so suddenly that Mussel danced a bit in place. "Can't I quietly feel regret over the fact that I made a difficult decision without you jumping all over me all the time? Will you stop hinting that I should leave every time I so much as sigh? Give it a rest, for God's sake!"

Edward shrank away from him slightly, but refused to give in. "But… you should be _happy_," he insisted.

Something twisted inside Alfons at the words. What did it take to convince Edward that he _was_? Over the past months, how hard had he tried to say, to _show_ Edward that he was truly, honestly, pleased to be here, with him? Why was Edward so certain he wasn't? "Just because I'm not one hundred percent ecstatic every minute of the day doesn't mean I want to leave!" he bit out.

And God, how could he possibly regret it, when Edward worked so _hard_ to make him happy? Somebody so devoted could only appear once in a lifetime. He would be a moron to give this up.

"But if…."

The sentence trailed off, and Alfons turned to stare at Edward in annoyance. "If _what_?"

"Nothing!" Edward said, sounding almost frightened.

Taking a deep breath, Alfons forced himself to calm, and tried to speak in a less threatening way. Something was wrong, and he had to understand why.

"What is it?"

Edward swallowed, apparently taking heart from the modulation of Alfons' tone, and finally spoke. "If you're not happy, then why would you want to stay with me?"

At that, the bottom abruptly dropped out of Alfons' stomach. _Why_? he thought dazedly. What was he doing wrong? Hadn't he already made it clear a thousand times that he _wanted_ Edward? "What makes you think that?" he managed.

"Well, you left me," Edward said uncertainly. "Or rather, you told me to go. I don't know why. So if you're happy then I hope you won't…. Sorry, sorry!" Edward cut himself off with a frantic apology. Alfons wondered vaguely what sort of expression must be on his face, to worry Edward so.

All this time, Edward had been working to keep him happy, because he thought if he didn't Alfons would just pick up and leave him?

"You," he began helplessly, then stopped. The pieces of the puzzle were in front of him. All he had to do was attempt to apply Edward-logic to understand what he was thinking.

Fact: Edward and Alfons had been together. Then Edward had come up with the idea to go to America, Alfons hadn't liked it, and Alfons' reaction had been to separate. So if you were a moron with twisted logic, by induction you might reach the conclusion that if Alfons wasn't pleased, Alfons might leave.

"You're an idiot," he finally said flatly. "There's this thing called _circumstances_. I had a _reason_, then. I mean, I didn't even know if you wanted me to come to your world with you! What was I supposed to do?"

"I thought it was obvious," Edward mumbled. Alfons felt an ache at the words, because God, Edward had wanted him _all along_, and if only they had _talked_ about it things might have ended up differently. …And yet they might not have, he amended wryly.

"And about the Germany thing," he said, "yes, I regret leaving sometimes. Yes, I betrayed my country today, and chances are I'll do it again before we leave here. No, I'm not happy about that. But that doesn't mean I go around every second of the day agonizing over it! It doesn't mean I can't be happy with what I _do_ have!"

A frown was on Edward's face, though Alfons was thankful he seemed to be taking his words seriously.

"Wouldn't making a wrong decision bother you?" Edward asked, in the tone Alfons had come to categorize as 'I am trying to understand you, please don't be mad'.

As such, he considered his answer carefully. "First of all, I don't think most decisions fall into either 'right' or 'wrong' categories. And anyway, even if I made a wrong decision, worrying about it all the time wouldn't make it better, would it?"

Edward still looked perturbed, and Alfons realized that maybe worrying about wrong decisions incessantly was _exactly_ what Edward was prone to doing. Moreover, Alfons' feeling that he would be capable of worrying himself into an early grave was exactly true – it had led to Edward's death, no less than three times.

The thought was exceedingly disturbing, and gave rise to determination: he would make sure it never happened again, no matter what it took.

"So you'll stay with me?" Edward asked hopefully.

Edward truly wanted him, and that was possibly the best feeling in the world. "I will," Alfons promised, and God, Edward looked so _happy_ at the words he thought his heart might break.

"We should get going," Edward said, nudging Ivory with his heels. Alfons nodded, and encouraged Mussel to follow.

It might be rocky, and they might encounter all sorts of difficulties on the way, but Alfons had to believe that in the end, things would work out.

---

In town, unadulterated joy awaited them. They hit the first clothing store they could find, and picked out some new shirts and trousers. The clerk eyed them suspiciously, but took their money readily enough. Then they bought train tickets for the next day, and went to the first hotel they found. It wasn't fancy, but it was clean and the price was right, and _anything_ seemed like luxury after months of sleeping on the road.

There was a brief tussle over who got to use the bath first which Alfons won, surprisingly enough, in exchange for shaving Edward before he got in. It was difficult to do it meticulously when he was so excited over the prospect of a bath, but he managed without nicking Edward too badly (though Edward complained disproportionately loudly about the few cuts).

Finally, at long last, he shooed Edward out and stripped, dropping his clothes in a dirty, smelly heap on the floor and kicking them aside while he waited for the tub to fill. He fidgeted, shifting from foot to foot impatiently, until finally the tub was full enough for his satisfaction. Carefully he clambered in, leaning back blissfully.

Ohhhh, the water was hot and perfect, and he wasted no time in starting to thoroughly scrub himself. Bliss. Joy. There was truly nothing better in the world than a nice, hot bath. And on the Eighth Day, He created the bath. Mmmmm.

Pounding on the door snapped him out of his happy haze, and he looked up curiously.

"Alfons, are you masturbating in there or something? Keep it down!" Edward yelled irritably. "And finish already, I want my turn!"

Embarrassed, Alfons resumed his rigorous splashing, this time taking care not to make any suspicious sounds.

"I'm going as fast as I can!" he called back, when he trusted his voice.

"Good!"

The sound of Edward's footsteps stomped off, and Alfons quickly finished up, though he still thoroughly enjoyed drying off, and putting on the clean, white linen shirt and dark brown pants, held up by a nice, new set of suspenders.

Feeling like a human being once more, Alfons opened the bathroom door, only to be practically bowled over by Edward.

"I wasn't _that_ long," he said defensively. Edward snorted, shoved him out, and slammed the door.

Shrugging, Alfons went into the main room, and flopped down backwards on one of the beds. Ohh, it was so soft. None of the unpleasant lumps or unevenness one encountered in Nature. If he hadn't been so excited, he would have been tempted to fall asleep right then and there.

Instead, he contemplated the future. From here they would obviously be taking a train back to Oklahoma City, to pick up Edward's prosthetics, which meant they would have to sell the horses. Alfons felt a slight pang at that; Mussel was a good animal, sweet tempered yet a bit frisky, and he would regret having to part with her. They would have to find the horses a good home.

And then? he wondered. They needed somewhere to work on the Molts, preferably somewhere with a university they could take courses at to help improve them.

Luckily, once the mine started operating, which Michaels had promised would be soon, they should have enough money for tuition. From what Alfons could remember from correspondence, there were universities in both Boston and New York, and certainly other places. America had a lot of universities, and now they could afford a good one.

The bathroom door opened and closed, and Alfons pushed up on his elbows, feet hanging over the edge of the bed, to share his thoughts with Edward. But anything he might have said was immediately lost the second he caught sight of his lover.

Alfons hadn't really taken the time to notice what clothes Edward had bought; he had assumed that, like him, Edward would go for a plain white shirt and pants in something reminiscent of the brown he had always favored in Germany.

Instead he realized that Edward was wearing _red_. His hair fluttered unbound as he dried it, contrasting appealingly with the bright red plaid shirt he had bought.

_Pretty_, he thought vaguely, his eyes fixating on Edward's chest where the shirt had only been partly buttoned. Edward had also bought a pair of worker's pants of some blueish cloth, with rivets at the edges of pockets and seams.

Edward was talking, but Alfons couldn't bring himself to pay attention to what he was saying. The tone of his voice changed, becoming confused; Alfons looked up at his face, and couldn't take it anymore. In a swift move, he hooked his fingers through Edward's belt-loops, and tugged.

With a yelp, Edward fell down on top of him, saving his dignity by bringing his hands down at the last minute to keep himself from completely collapsing. Immediately, Alfons wrapped his legs around Edward's waist, pulling their hips firmly together, and grabbed a fistful of Edward's red shirt to hold him within easy kissing distance.

Edward smelled of clean soap and new clothes, Alfons found it very pleasing as he ran his hands under Edward's shirt, trying to get access to as much skin as possible without actually stripping him. It took Edward only a few short seconds to overcome his initial surprise and cooperate eagerly.

---

Prudent use of Edward's towel had kept the mess localized, and Alfons lay there happily tired, while Edward leaned over him, propped up on his fake elbow, running his hand through Alfons' hair.

The repetitive motion of Edward smoothing back his bangs was relaxing, and Alfons sighed, eyes half-lidded so he could still admire the sight of Edward, naked but for the shirt hanging off his shoulders.

"What was that about?" Edward asked lazily.

Alfons smiled, and said carefully, "I approve of your shirt."

Pausing in his stroking, Edward looked at him slightly incredulously. "… I don't think 'approval' quite covers your reaction."

Alfons considered it. Since he wasn't going to say 'your shirt gets me hot'… "No, I think 'approve' is the word I'm looking for."

"Whatever." Edward scratched his scalp lightly, making Alfons sigh. "Your hair is long," he observed.

"Mmm, I need to get to a barber," Alfons agreed.

"You could let it grow out." The suggestion was nonchalant, and Alfons opened his eyes in surprise. "I'm just _saying_," Edward added defensively at the look he got from Alfons.

"Nah," Alfons decided. He knew that Edward had a bit of a hair thing, but he wasn't sure he was quite up to actually wearing his long. It was rather out of style, and even though he couldn't imagine Edward without his long locks, it probably wasn't for him.

Edward shrugged in a way that Alfons was sure was masking slight disappointment, but he wasn't worried; if it was really a Big Deal to Edward, he would definitely be hearing about it again, ad nauseam.

"So where are we going to live?" he asked Edward. "Any thoughts about what university you want to go to?"

"I was thinking Boston," Edward mused. "I liked Boston."

"We were barely there a _day_," Alfons snorted.

"I still liked it. Do you have a place you'd rather go?" Edward challenged.

"I guess not." He smiled up at Edward, feeling satisfied and at peace. No, he certainly didn't regret his decision to come. If only because otherwise he might never have gotten to see Edward in a red shirt. "Boston is just fine."


	20. Home Sweet House

_I'm sorry. I'm so terribly, terribly sorry it took me so long. I promise, I'll try really hard to update the next chapter quickly...  
My excuses (just in case you want to know): 1) I had a terrible time writing this chapter, and even now I'm not totally pleased with it. I will try to do better on the next chapters, and any concrit you have for this one is quite welcome. 2) I'm directing a musical which goes up in two weeks, so everything is crazy right now. and 3) there was a bad shooting last week right near my university, and that sort of killed my muse a bit._

* * *

Alfons stared up at the bright blue sky idly while listening to the rise and fall of Edward's voice, the wood of a park bench stiff under his back. He hardly noticed the mild discomfort; months of sleeping on the ground had made him much less sensitive to the surfaces he might be lying on. And hey, at least the bench wasn't lumpy.

The view of the Boston Common (at least, what little of the park he could see from lying down) didn't compare at all to the beauty of the desert out West, but it was certainly nice; quite a bit greener that was sure.

"…There's Tufts. Not so convenient in terms of area if we want to be close to central Boston, but it's there. And of course," here Edward paused to sigh a bit in a way that Alfons would have thought of as 'dreamily' had it been anybody but Edward speaking, "Harvard. We _could_ go to Harvard, you know."

"Mm, true," Alfons agreed thoughtfully. "What other options are there?"

"When did you get so goddamn _picky_?" Edward demanded, glowering at him.

A happy smile worked its way onto Alfons' face, and he swung his leg where it hung over the side of the bench. "We're going to have enough money to choose _any_ university we want to go to. I refuse to squander the opportunity to be picky. Keep reading," he commanded.

With a sigh, Edward flipped through his papers, and resumed the offers. "Um… Here, Massachusetts Institute of Technology, MIT. Ohh, that's a good one too, the old bastard had some contacts there, I think. Northeastern University, Boston University… anything sound good to you yet?"

"Go on."

"Sheesh. The School of the Museum of Fine Arts, will that satisfy your need to be asinine?"

Pushing himself into an upright position, Alfons stretched a bit. "You're not being nice to me."

"You look like a moron when you pout," Edward retorted, quite unfairly in Alfons' opinion.

"I don't pout." He shot Edward a mildly aggrieved look. Had they still been on the road, this conversation would have ended up being rather more drawn-out than strictly necessary, with a few breaks for –

"Don't zone off!" Edward poked him, looking rather put-out. "Dammit Alfons, we don't have time, the semester starts really soon! We need to apply fast, or else, brains or not, we won't be getting in before next year."

True, Alfons thought. They were on a schedule once again. Places to be, things to do…. He looked over at the mess of papers in Edward's hands.

"They're all pretty good schools, right?" The question was rhetorical, but Edward nodded anyway. "And we can afford any of them. I guess we should try applying for two, then pick the best out of them?" They probably didn't need to apply to any more. He had confidence in their ability to be accepted into whatever school they chose.

Shrugging, Edward dismissed the topic as closed, and pulled out a map. "We also need to figure out where we're going to live," he said. "If we go to MIT, then we can find a place here," he pointed at a neighborhood marked 'Back Bay', "which is right across the river. That would be real convenient."

Likewise inspecting the map, Alfons pointed out two other neighborhoods, namely Fenway and Allston, which would be convenient if they got into Harvard. "Don't you think it'll be tough to rent in these areas, though?" he wondered. They were probably mobbed with students.

"Rent?" Edward asked quizzically. "You don't want to buy?"

Alfons stared at him in surprise for a second. The option had honestly not even occurred to him; he wasn't used to thinking in terms of having enough money for that sort of thing.

To buy a house, that would belong to both him and Edward, together…. "Yes!" he blurted. "Let's buy!"

Surprised at his vehemence, Edward raised an eyebrow. "Okay…" but almost immediately returned to the business at hand. "So. I was thinking something with two bedrooms-"

Alfons heart sank. No shared room?

"We can get a single bed for each one-"

No shared _bed_?

"What's with that face?"

"I…" Alfons began, unsure. Did Edward not _want_ to share? "We're not… together?"

Embarrassed at how plaintive the question came out, he found himself dropping his gaze to the ground.

"It's illegal," Edward said, mock-patiently. "So we have two rooms, two beds, and we both sleep in a different one every night."

"That's absolutely _ridiculous_," Alfons growled. "What's the point of having our own house if we can't sleep together like human beings?"

All right, so it was silly, but he had cautiously daydreamed of him and Edward on a _big_ bed, with thick, bouncy mattresses….

"And if somebody comes visiting? You don't think they'd notice two men, one bed, you do the math?"

And when exactly did Edward become so _careful_? He couldn't remember a single time in Germany when Edward had so much as worried about closing the window! Fine time for Edward to suddenly clue in on the societal norms of the world, he thought sourly.

"Why exactly would we be showing visitors into our _room_?" Alfons demanded.

"Things happen!" Edward retorted. "For God's sake, what do you care? We shared a small bed in Munich and it was fine."

"Switching rooms every night is a stupid hassle," Alfons complained, crossing his arms and leaning back against the bench.

Groaning, Edward ran a hand through his hair. "Make it every fucking week, you think I care? The point is for the room to look used, that's all."

"It's going to be a pain in the ass," Alfons groused, already thinking of having to split his clothes between two rooms, seeing in his mind's eye mornings of getting up early for class and trying to figure out which room his shoes were in…. "Can't we at least have something resembling a double bed?" A large bed would be such a _novelty_.

Edward turned to look at him, and his expression abruptly grew challenging, as he prepared to present his concluding argument. Alfons steeled himself mentally; Edward fought _dirty_.

"You're very cute when you sleep on my chest," Edward said, completely deadpan, though a blush threatened to spread across his face.

Oh _darn_. Alfons' heart betrayed him by fluttering violently in his chest, and, and – _dammit_. He _knew_ Edward was just using it as part of the argument, and it was completely low of him to take such a cheap shot, but –

But Edward didn't lie to him.

Certain his face must be scarlet, Alfons dropped his gaze to his lap. "You win," he mumbled. "Small beds."

Now Edward's face sported a self-satisfied smirk. The man was practically as lousy a winner as he was a loser.

Eager to turn the conversation to more comfortable topics, Alfons raised several logistic points about how many more days they would have to stay in the hotel rooms they had been in ever since arriving in Boston yesterday, how long until they had enough funds to buy the place they wanted, how much it was likely to cost. From there the conversation moved to combing the newspapers for ads of houses for sale, and tearing out any that looked promising.

"I don't think you get it," Edward suddenly said, out of the blue. Alfons looked up, confused.

"We have to be careful now, much more careful than we were in Germany," Edward said earnestly, "because now we have something to lose."

"What do you mean?" Alfons honestly wasn't quite sure what Edward was talking about. Didn't they always have something to lose?

Edward frowned, apparently annoyed that Alfons was being so slow. "_Money_, Alfons. If we get caught, we could go to jail. If somebody found us out, they could use the information to blackmail us or something."

"Be serious," Alfons laughed, but stopped when he realized that Edward most definitely wasn't amused.

"In my world, Xenotime had a rich enough vein to keep a whole town in money for years," Edward said quietly. "And people are starting to figure that out here, too." He pulled out a newspaper, and flipped to one of the middle pages, which featured a picture of a familiar face.

"We're in the paper?" Alfons asked, snatching it, and skimming the article as fast as his still-weak English would allow him to.

Edward snorted. "Be thankful Michaels was smart enough not to mention our names, otherwise we'd never have any peace."

Sobered, Alfons folded the paper back up and set it aside. Once again he was forcibly reminded of the ultimate wrongness of what he and Edward were doing together, and he didn't like it.

"Let's look for a house," he suggested. A space to be _theirs_, to hide in from the rest of the world, that was what he desperately wanted.

For a moment Edward regarded him quietly, and Alfons wondered how much of his thoughts he picked up on.

"Yeah," Edward finally agreed.

---

Based out of their motel room, they split their time between investigating houses, and preparing for interviews at universities. It was constantly on the tip of Alfons' tongue to warn Edward not to say anything odd, or mention anything remotely related to the arcane, but he managed to suppress the urge.

Edward wasn't an idiot. He wouldn't jeopardize his chances. But then, Edward was also known to be tactless and impulsive and… and then Alfons found himself biting his tongue to keep from blurting out warnings.

House-hunting was a welcome distraction. After several days of checking out modest flats, Alfons finally managed to drag Edward over to look at a beautiful townhouse, which cost almost more than he could imagine.

After touring through the three floors, multiple rooms, roomy kitchen and bathrooms, Alfons turned to Edward, his eyes shining.

"No," Edward said flatly.

Alfons frowned, studiously not pouting. "I _like_ it. And we can have a library in the house. Don't you want your own library?" Best to go straight for Edward's weak points.

The shot hit home, and Edward visibly wavered, but rallied. "It's way too big. What the hell are we going to do with so much space?"

Alfons tried to ignore the agent that was listening to their conversation curiously.

"We can afford it," Alfons wheedled. "And then we'll be able to study in peace, and not get in each other's way."

"Just because we _can_ doesn't mean we should," Edward answered. "Think of all the lenses we could buy for the price of this house. And we need money for university, too."

"But I thought we calculated that we had plenty." Alfons frowned, perplexed.

Biting his lip, Edward hesitated a moment, then grabbed his arm and towed him towards the door.

"Let's talk about this _outside_," he growled.

Disappointed that it looked like they wouldn't be buying the house after all, Alfons dragged his feet a bit, but followed Edward out. "What is it?"

Edward finally stopped and turned towards him, looking a bit unhappy. "Look, we're a bit tight on funds until Michaels sends us more, okay? What with paying to get into university and all…"

Doing some quick mental calculations, Alfons calculated their current amount of money in the bank against the price of the house and tuition, and it didn't make sense the second time either. The only solution that made sense was… "You haven't been taking money out of our account without telling me, have you?"

"Of course not!" Edward said indignantly. "It's just that university ended up more expensive than we had thought."

"Why?"

"Because of the generous donation we made to MIT in advance thanks for being accepted, that's why."

Alfons' mouth worked silently for a moment before he found his voice. "You _bribed_ them?" he finally squeaked.

"It worked, didn't it?" Edward said defensively.

"But…" he looked away, disturbed. He wanted to get in on his own merit, not because of money! While previously he had been rather excited over the fact that the interviews seemed to have gone so well, now he felt mildly sick about the whole business. "You didn't tell me about this."

"I knew it wouldn't make you happy," Edward muttered. "And I told you I'd do whatever it took to get in, and you said fine."

Well, he supposed he had, but still. Edward had definitely twisted the truth a bit, with this one.

"Next time, tell me," he said, suppressing the part of him that wanted to get down on his knees in front of Edward and beg him never to do that sort of thing to him. "Even if it's painful. Don't keep things from me." Secrets were bad, he thought, aching. His own secrets had nearly broken them apart once; he wouldn't risk that again.

With a slow nod, Edward answered with a soft "Okay". They stood there in the street for a few minutes, just looking at each other.

"Smaller house, then?" Edward finally asked quietly, and Alfons nodded acquiescence.

---

A week later found Alfons prowling through their very own small brownstone row house on Gloucester Street, which nonetheless had two floors, and three bedrooms, with nicely-sized living room as well. It had been a battle, but he had finally managed to convince Edward that they had had enough of apartments, and of the wonders of proper houses. Edward's main complaint had been about space, and now Alfons was beginning to understand his point; if they had gotten everything already, why did it still feel so _empty_?

The centerpiece for the living room was a massive sofa which would easily fit the two of them with room for plenty of books. The kitchen had some pots and pans and stuff and even a table and chairs, the bedrooms had a bed each and some dressers and closets. It seemed like they had been shopping for ages, and he was getting heartily sick of constantly feeling like there was just one more thing they needed.

Maybe because they only had a few books, Alfons thought, looking mournfully at the pathetically empty bookshelf in their living room. Alfons had arranged the few books they had brought over from Germany on the shelves, trying to make them seem like more than they actually were. There were a few books on rocketry and aeronautics (including their slightly dog-eared, annotated Goddard), as well as calculus and mathematics. Next to them, looking utterly incongruous was the small book on exorcism.

Alfons flopped down on the sofa, splaying his legs out and marveling at the springy softness of it. True, it was second-hand, but far superior to the ratty old thing they had had in Munich. Frowning slightly, he surveyed the room.

This whole putting-together-a-house business was quite a bit more complicated than he had thought; it seemed like every day they suddenly remembered something else they needed, like towels or silverware or cleaning materials.

Despite the fact that rooming with Edward was nothing new – they had been doing it for over two years – now it felt… different, somehow. This house belonged to the two of them, together, like… he refused to even think the word 'married', pushed it away out of his mind. He wouldn't cheapen what they had by feeling as if this was some sort of parody of normalcy, a twisted version of what a household should be like.

It wasn't a game, they weren't two grown men playing 'house'. Alfons pulled a leg up to his chest, and rested his face against it unhappily. How did Edward not feel how awkward and strange this was?

Somewhere inside he wanted what he supposed every man must want, a place to come back to, a home, a family. When he had thought he was dying of consumption, he had never even contemplated the possibility, but now… what kind of home would he have, with a man waiting for him instead of a woman? What would his mother have thought of him, if she had known?

How was any of this supposed to _work_?

Now there was no Gracia to remind them to clean, or to cook them dinners more often than not. They would have to do everything themselves. Should they write up some sort of duty roster? He was honestly afraid that if they just tried to make it up as they went along they would end up starving to death in a month, simply out of sheer disorganized laziness. There was no point in deluding himself; they were both exceptionally good at dodging chores.

For today, Edward had left to do more shopping, leaving him at home to continue organizing things. Alfons was sure that he was missing some important, obvious things, but he couldn't for the life of him think of what they might be.

It wasn't like he could get to work on lunch yet, since Edward had yet to return with groceries. He supposed that when Edward returned they would be 'officially' moved in.

Restless, Alfons pushed himself up, and returned to wandering through the house. They would definitely need to make some sort of schedule for cleaning. Not that they needed to clean that often, but if dirt accumulated for too long, then Edward would probably take it upon himself to wash the floors. As Edward's idea of washing floors involved spilling a whole lot of water on them and then scraping it outside along with the dirt, Alfons thought it would be prudent to make sure that they never reached that situation. That much water could leak through the floorboards and ruin them.

Fumbling sounds from the direction of the door snapped Alfons out of his fretting, and he hurried to open it for Edward, who stumbled in, loaded down with bags.

Alfons helped him carry the stuff into the kitchen and began rummaging in the groceries, only now realizing how hungry he was, and aching for a distraction.

"Lunch?" he asked hopefully, searching for foods that didn't need much preparing.

"Here," Edward put a bag down on the table and tilted it on its side, so its motley contents spilled out on the table. Alfons stared for a moment, nonplussed.

"What is this stuff?" They were obviously… well, fruits or vegetables, but he wasn't quite sure which. Or what any of this stuff was. Though… "Is this an orange?" he inquired, picking up the round orange fruit in delight. The last time he had had one had been _years_ ago.

Edward grinned at him, and nodded. "I got lots of good stuff," he paused, and shrugged, "or at least, stuff the shopkeeper promised me was good. Just don't ask how much it cost."

Startled out of picking at the orange peel with his nails, Alfons looked at Edward worriedly. "How much did it cost?"

"Argh, I said _don't_ ask." Edward busied himself for a moment with arranging the foods into neat groups on the table. "I got a little bit of lots of different stuff to try."

They spent the next hour experimenting with the different foods, learning that neither a banana nor an avocado was meant to be eaten with the peel, same as an orange.

Olives were, though, but the hard pits came as a bit of a surprise (Edward bit down too hard, and cursed loudly at the resulting crunch). Figuring out the pineapple took a little bit longer, and they both ended up deciding that it hadn't quite been worth the effort. Alfons came to the conclusion that he was quite partial to the avocados, though. They would definitely have to get more of those.

For his part, Edward was completely enchanted by the dates; Alfons found them just a little too sweet for his taste.

Since he knew what an orange was and that he quite liked them, Alfons saved it for last, and it was every bit as good as he remembered. Licking the sweet juice off his fingers, Alfons suddenly caught sight of Edward, who was watching him intently.

Before he could voice an inquiry Edward was practically on top of him, pinning him against the table and gripping his wrists.

"What -?" he asked weakly.

Edward didn't answer, just brought Alfons' hands to his mouth to lick his fingers, flicking his tongue against them and sucking briefly on the tips. The sensation was terribly arousing, but Alfons couldn't shake the residual wrongness he felt.

What the hell were they _doing_?

He found his hands abruptly released, as Edward wrapped his right arm around Alfons' neck to pull him down for a sticky-sweet kiss that tasted of dates. The familiarity of the action (despite the new flavor) made Alfons sigh, some of the tension draining out of him, and he found himself responding comfortably.

Nothing had changed, he realized vaguely as Edward abruptly spun him so he was leaning facedown on the table. He was still himself, and Edward was still Edward, so what did it matter if they had a house or not? Whatever significance this might have to everybody else didn't matter. It was about him and Edward, and what they would make of it.

"Hey," Edward suddenly growled in his ear, "stop thinking already."

Alfons blinked, smiled, and agreed.

---

The rest of the day passed speedily, and finally they had undressed and were getting ready for their first night in their new house.

"Crap," Edward groused. "We didn't get toothpaste."

Alfons groaned, and pulled out a pen to add toothpaste to the growing list of things they still had to get that was tacked to the door of their bedroom. Actually, nominally it was Edward's bedroom, but since they would end up sharing more often than not, it didn't really matter.

They had ended up getting beds that, while single, were still rather wider than the ones in Munich had been, so when they both climbed in together it was quite comfortable.

"I like this mattress," Alfons said, stretching happily. Edward hummed agreement, and curled against him, draping one arm across Alfons' chest.

"Are you happy?" Edward asked him softly.

Alfons snorted. Despite his misgivings, despite the difficulties, despite what he had sacrificed, he couldn't honestly say he was anything _but_ happy, and Edward should know it by now.

But maybe it wasn't always about insecurity; Maybe Edward just liked hearing him say it. So he did, without reading too much into it, and was rewarded with a grin and a kiss.

Opening his mouth, he wanted to return the question – was Edward happy? But he thought better of it, and said nothing. It was too dangerous a question to ask, so Alfons didn't, and just closed his eyes instead.

Edward drifted off to sleep fairly quickly, but Alfons found himself tossing, his breath short. He must have dozed off at some point, because eventually he found himself jerking upright in bed, coughing on a blockage in his lungs.

_Oh shit, oh shit_, he thought helplessly, trying to stop, but unable to breathe. His entire body shook with the effort, the coughs tearing out of him with more and more force until he tasted blood.

Starting to panic – he hadn't had an attack this bad in _months_ – Alfons pressed both hands to his mouth in an attempt to stop them, but failed. His body shook in another spasm, and then he felt something small and wriggling slightly against his fingers.

Gagging only made the contractions worse, and Alfons shook helplessly, trying to breathe but failing, his throat and lungs screaming at him in pain, until another worm had been coughed up to join the first.

"Oh- oh- God – " he managed, and felt one in his _mouth_, and-

"Alfons!" Edward shouted, shaking him furiously. Alfons jerked awake with a start, and barely had the presence of mind to vomit onto the floor by the bed and not onto their new sheets.

His breath was still short, but there was no worm, it had been a dream, nothing but a dream.

"… You need to calm down," Edward was saying, rubbing his back until he had stopped retching and was just gasping for air. "Come on, Alfons, hyperventilating only makes it worse. Stop thinking about it."

With a pathetic sniffle, Alfons whirled around and clung to Edward.

"Hey," Edward ran his hands over his shoulders, partly soothing, partly trying to get Alfons to let go. "If you let me get up, I'll get your cough syrup. It's just a stupid nightmare, Alfons, don't let it get to you."

Slowly relaxing, Alfons managed a snort. "Y-you're the one who always sulks for days after nightmares," he gasped out, and tightened his arms around Edward's waist. "Don't go."

At that Edward was silent and just held him, while Alfons gained control of himself.

"Alfons, if I don't clean it up, the room is going to stink all day tomorrow. Actually, it stinks _now_. And you smell, too. Get up."

Apparently Edward had decided Alfons was going to be fine.

"I'll clean up the mess, you go wash up," Edward instructed, finally managing to disentangle Alfons' arms from around him.

Climbing reluctantly out of bed, Alfons watched Edward for a moment as he exited the room, wondering whether it would be too pathetic to ask Edward to wait up for him, and, for that matter, whether or not he should offer to help with the mess.

"Why are you just standing around?" Edward asked when he came back in with a bucket of water and a towel.

"Sorry," Alfons blurted. "Tomorrow's the first day of the semester, and now you're not getting any sleep because of me."

Rolling his eyes, Edward grabbed him by the shoulders and steered him towards the bathroom. "Don't be a moron. The faster you're clean, the faster you get back and we can both get back to sleep."

Giving in, Alfons went to clean himself off, and returned to find the room quiet, Edward an inert lump on the bed. Hesitating at the entrance, he wondered if he shouldn't sleep in the other room instead, so as not to bother Edward, when Edward asked him sleepily if he was just going to stand there like an idiot waiting for the sunrise.

With a smile on his face, Alfons climbed back into bed and Edward cuddled up to him, and he thought that he must truly be one of the luckiest people in the world.

---

Maybe it was lucky that they woke a bit late the next morning, because it meant that in the rush of trying to find their clothes and shoes and get shaved and still have time to eat something, they had no time to be nervous.

Moreover, they barely had enough time to rush across the bridge to the university, and Alfons only snatched broken glimpses of large brick structures with many windows until they reached their destination for the morning classes.

They had both agreed that overall, there was no point in sharing classes, and so Alfons ended up taking most of the courses in optics and electronics in order to work on the molts, and Edward took courses on mathematics and astrophysics in addition to optics.

It was profoundly strange for Alfons to be part of such a large crowd after so many months of being alone with Edward, and he was beginning to enjoy it. There was so much energy around, so many people all here to learn… Alfons found himself getting excited.

A quick glance told him that Edward didn't seem to be enjoying it as much as he was, but didn't look unduly distressed, either. He felt a slight pang that so few things in this world seemed to cause Edward any sort of happiness, but he suppressed it. After all, that was the purpose of their research; getting Edward home.

"This is my classroom," Edward suddenly said, pausing by a door. "See you later, then?"

Alfons nodded, forcing the exchange to remain casual, and Edward gave him a small wave before entering the classroom.

Turning to leave, Alfons suddenly stopped when Edward backed right out of the room, white as a sheet.

"Edward…?" he wondered worriedly.

Wide eyed, and looking almost terrified, Edward just muttered, "No way, no fucking way…."

"What's wrong?" Shit, please let there not be a scene, that was all they needed, a screw-up on their _very first day_….

"My life is a joke," Edward said, his voice strangled. "One big fucking joke, and it's not funny anymore."

* * *

_  
Oh! And I remembered I wanted to say that I was honestly impressed by how many people were familiar with "Fiddler on the Roof". Now I'm tempted to contstantly work in references to random stuff in the chapter names. So, um, have fun with that, if you like that sort of thing._


	21. Substitution

_I'm so sorry about the late updates... but I feel my muses slowly sneaking back, so hopefully the next chapter will be quicker. I just want to say that this chapter may have some minor changes made to it, as I haven't yet finished dissecting it properly with the people I usually dissect Mirrorworld with. I was just impatient, and if I didn't post now, it would be at least another two days until I do... so I decided to post, and hope you might forgive any mistakes._

* * *

Turning to leave, Alfons suddenly stopped when Edward backed right out of the classroom, white as a sheet.

"Edward…?" he wondered worriedly.

Wide eyed, and looking almost terrified, Edward just muttered, "No way, no fucking way…."

"What's wrong?" Shit, please let there not be a scene, that was all they needed, a screw-up on their _very first day_….

"My life is a joke," Edward said, his voice strangled. "One big fucking joke, and it's not funny anymore."

"What _is_ it?" Alfons asked, lowering his voice, and shifting from foot to foot. This was such a bad time, he was going to be late for class, why _now-_

"Nothing!" Edward grabbed his sleeve and started tugging him away. "I think I'll come with you to class today."

Tugging back, Alfons protested, "You can't cut class on the first day!" He yanked his sleeve out of Edward's grasp, and strode over to see what exactly was bothering him.

Ducking his head into the classroom, he looked around, did a double take, and then backed out quickly.

"What's your father doing here?" he asked Edward.

"That's not my father." His lover's voice was tight.

"Yes it is," Alfons contradicted in annoyance. "Who else could it be?"

Getting angry now, Edward stepped closer to hiss, "It's his _double_, you moron."

Shaking his head helplessly, Edward fidgeted a bit, then clenched his fists. "Look, I can't go in there."

"You can't ditch calculus," Alfons said, glancing at his watch, his mind reeling. The man in the room had looked _exactly_ like Professor Elric, it was positively uncanny.

For the first time he was truly starting to understand what it was like for Edward, attempting to function normally around people who were truly exact copies of people he knew. How could two of somebody exist? It didn't make any sense, but now wasn't the time. "Look, if it's not actually your father, then just get in there already."

"But-"

Patience snapping, Alfons glanced at his watch one last time, and interrupted him. "I need to get to class, I don't have time for this. Sorry. _Deal_ with it, Edward."

With that, he turned his back and hurried off, resisting the urge to look back and check if Edward was okay. He would make it up to Edward later, he promised himself. Until then, Edward would have to manage. And really, why was it such a big deal, anyway? Edward pretty much hated his father. All he had to do was just sit quietly in class and learn; it wasn't like he had to _interact_ with the professor.

Having mostly convinced himself, Alfons made it into his electronics class only two minutes late, slid quietly into his seat, and tried not to be embarrassed by his tardiness.

What a lousy way to start the year.

* * *

Within a few hours, Alfons was beginning to miss Edward with a sharp sort of ache.

It wasn't that he couldn't manage without Edward constantly by his side, because he could, they hadn't been together _all _the time during the past few months. But people's reactions to him were starting to grate.

Students seemed friendly enough, until he opened his mouth; then enough of them to make a difference grew wary and guarded the second they heard his obvious, intrusive, German accent. Alfons hated himself for thinking it, but after several hours of that, he was wishing he could ditch his accent, just so people would stop treating him like some sort of leper.

He found himself counting the hours until the day was over and he could see Edward again, and finally speak German to someone who wouldn't judge him.

Yet despite the semi-exclusion from society, Alfons found himself enjoying being back in university. The months on the road had been fun, but they hadn't been very intellectually challenging. He had the feeling that after a week or so the novelty of getting homework would have worn off, but for now his good mood persisted.

At the end of the day he headed over to their designated rendezvous point, to find Edward already there, flopped on the grass in a way that gave the impression he hadn't moved for a while, and didn't intend to, either.

Alfons sat down next to him, and put both his hands in his lap, clenching his fists so he wouldn't accidentally stroke Edward's bangs out of his face, or something even less appropriate.

Rolling over a bit, Edward cracked an eye open, regarding him dispassionately.

"How come _you_ look like you've been here for hours?" Alfons asked, a bit plaintively. Learning was all well and good, but sitting on the grass on campus with a book was more fun.

"'Cause I have," Edward replied lazily. "My classes finished about two hours ago."

Miffed, Alfons pulled Edward's book bag over to him, and took out his schedule, which turned out to be quite a bit emptier than his own. "Why do you have so much free time?"

"I know more than you do," Edward said flatly. "The stupid information from the Gate should be good for _something_. And I need to work on the array while you build the molts. There's a limit to how many useful things I'm going to learn here."

Slightly hurt, Alfons looked over at Edward. Both of them knew that Edward's brain was capable of quite a bit more than Alfons' was, but his friend had never brought it up before as an issue. Alfons shifted uncomfortably, not sure what to say.

"Oh!" With everything that had happened that day, Alfons had practically forgotten about the morning's little crisis. "How was the class with the professor who looks like your father?"

Alfons most definitely did not imagine his lover's flinch at the words.

"Fine," Edward responded curtly.

Maybe Edward was mad at him.

"What's his name?" he inquired, prodding.

"Henry Alder."

The chances of Edward being mad at him were rising exponentially.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No," Edward snapped, sitting up. "I don't want to talk about my bastard father's fucking double. Here I finally thought I was rid of him, and now I'm stuck with another one." He took a deep breath. "Let's get the fuck out of here, I was just waiting for you anyway."

Slightly perplexed, Alfons followed Edward down the paths to the tram, taking in the tense line of his shoulders and back.

He felt as if he was missing something important, but he wasn't quite sure what.

* * *

Edward was oddly silent on the way back, and Alfons resolved to try and cheer him up once they got home. They could have sex; that usually put Edward in a good mood. And then Alfons would get to hear Edward moaning encouragement in his slightly-accented German which Alfons found adorable. Winners all around.

When they got home, he waited patiently as Edward locked the door, and then tugged on his hair gently to bring him into kissing range.

But Edward didn't seem terribly enthusiastic, and just gave him a token kiss before pulling away.

"Not now, Alfons, I need to write the bastard a letter." Edward looked studiously at the floor and away from Alfons' puzzled expression. "I-I'll tell him that now we have money, we don't need him to send us any more."

Following Edward into the living room, Alfons watched as he took out some paper and his fountain pen.

"But he hasn't sent us any money in a while, has he?" the German wondered. "You said a few months ago that you hadn't heard from him in ages."

Edward froze at his words, an odd expression crossing his features. "I know," he finally said softly. Then he shook himself slightly, regaining some of his familiar belligerence. "Well, I can still tell him. Just because he's a shmuck is no reason not to be civil."

Inwardly amused at the hypocrisy in the sentence, Alfons trailed after him for a few minutes as Edward sat down to start writing, and then took himself off to make dinner.

He wasn't particularly good at cooking, but he wasn't terrible, either. Fried eggs were always good, right? There was nothing wrong with fried eggs and salad for dinner.

And at least he could make a better salad than Edward, who insisted that the only dressings on a salad should be salt, pepper and oil; and if that wasn't enough, then add more salt and pepper.

When dinner was ready, he poked his head out of the kitchen to check on Edward, who was still poring over his letter, which had grown considerably in volume.

Alfons walked over and inspected it, raising an eyebrow.

"You're getting an early start on your doctorate?"

Edward jumped and flushed, instinctively covering his papers with his hands.

"It's theories," he said defensively. "I think he's got everything all wrong, and I want to tell him so."

Seating himself next to Edward on the sofa, Alfons inquired curiously what sort of theories they were.

"Alchemy stuff," Edward shrugged. "It probably wouldn't mean much to you, you're not an alchemist. Is dinner ready?"

The flippant way in which he had been dismissed bothered Alfons, but he tried to convince himself it made sense. It was true; he _wasn't_ an alchemist. He probably wouldn't be able to provide Edward with particularly stimulating conversation on that topic.

None of his rationalizing made the left-out feelings go away.

Especially after his day, which had been rather lonelier than he had expected, he craved human contact, but Edward holed up with his letter – which was turning into one heck of a treatise – after dinner as well, and looked like he would be working on it far into the night.

Disappointed, Alfons sat down with one of his books, checking the clock every so often to find out if it was late enough to go to sleep yet.

The clock's hands moved infuriatingly slowly that evening.

At eleven he decided it was late enough, and bid Edward a hesitant goodnight. Edward didn't ignore him, thankfully, but said that he would be in later. Kissing the top of Edward's head, Alfons then departed for the bathroom, where he spent several minutes with his hand, and whimpered Edward's name when he came.

The sheets were cold when he crawled into bed upstairs, and it suddenly seemed abnormally large without Edward's body in it to negotiate around. He rolled over, his lover's scent surrounding him and threatening to drive him crazy, decided he didn't like his new position, and rolled back.

If he listened carefully, he could hear the slight sounds Edward made in the living room as he wrote; occasional mumblings, the scrape of a chair when he got up, footsteps creaking on the wooden floors.

Eventually he lapsed into sleep, his face buried in the pillow.

* * *

A strangled cry woke him, followed by a loud _thump_. Rolling groggily out of bed, Alfons only dimly registered that it was still night, and that Edward had never come up. He fumbled his way downstairs, noting that the lights were still on, and found his lover on the floor by the sofa.

Edward's golden hair was mussed, his clothes rumpled in a way that showed he had slept in them, and he sat in a dazed, miserable little heap on the floor still shaking with the aftermath of what must have been a nightmare.

Alfons didn't ask what was wrong, only knelt next to Edward and pulled the man into his arms, guiding his head onto his shoulder gently. With a sound Alfons wouldn't classify as a sob for the sake of Edward's dignity, Edward suddenly clung to him, digging his human fingers into Alfons' back, his prosthetic conspicuously dormant by his side.

Alfons found himself murmuring all sorts of nonsense as he rubbed Edward's back, trying to get him to relax.

"Come to bed," he coaxed, tugging slightly at him, trying to get Edward to get up.

"Can't sleep," Edward answered hoarsely, shaking his head a bit. "Kept trying to stay up…."

"You expected to have nightmares?"

Edward shrugged, refusing to commit to an answer.

Struck by inspiration, Alfons queried further, "Is this because of Professor Alder?" If past experience could be trusted, usually Edward's worst nightmares followed appearances by people he knew. It stood to reason that this would be no exception.

Indeed, Edward flinched at his words, and suddenly pulled away. "Let's just get to sleep, we have school tomorrow," he growled.

Alfons followed him upstairs, another thought, a disturbing one, taking root in his mind.

Until now, he hadn't quite realized that the people in his world were truly _exact copies_ of the people in Edward's. Somehow, he thought people must be fairly alike, and that Edward was capitalizing on that similarity because of homesickness.

But after seeing Professor Alder, who was the exact spitting image of Edward's father, Alfons realized that he, himself, must be just as similar to Alphonse Elric.

As he crawled into bed with Edward, he found himself rather disturbed by the closeness. What if, somehow, despite everything, Edward really _was_ only attracted to him because of a physical similarity?

Forcefully, Alfons quashed the thought, and shifted closer to Edward. It was a stupid thought. A totally ridiculous one and he wouldn't think it anymore. After everything Edward had done for him, doubting him now would just be cruel and foolish.

He _wasn't_ doubting. He just wondered.

* * *

Almost without noticing, their life slipped into a rhythm of getting up, going to school, doing homework. Some days they would meet in the labs to experiment on the molts, trying to find the exact quirk or refinement that would allow them to actually use them for the purpose they had been invented for – creating an array.

Some days, Alfons thought guiltily, it was insidiously easy to forget that they had a greater purpose beyond day-to-day life.

Maybe it had something to do with money, he wondered, as he browsed through a shop, looking at shirts. Having money meant that life had lost some of its frantic urgency. They didn't need to worry about paying rent, or being able to afford food. In fact, they even had enough in order to keep their house stocked with expensive delicacies if they so wished, and for Alfons to acquire a new article of clothing whenever the fancy struck him. No more stained, threadbare shirts, he thought, as he counted out the money to pay for the latest, admiring the high-quality linen.

Being respectable was a good feeling, and he hummed a bit, thinking happily of his new shirt as he picked up the last of the groceries.

Even Edward, who seemed utterly oblivious to what he wore (though there was no way he could be that careless, he had bought that red shirt after all), now spent a bit more effort on how he looked, and acquired clothes that actually fit him properly, unlike the ones in Munich which had always been several sizes too big.

"I'm back," he called out cheerfully, kicking the door shut behind him.

There was a slight scuffle from the direction of the living room, and Edward's voice called out a muffled 'hello', before he cursed.

"Edward?" he wondered, dumping the groceries on the table in the kitchen and going to investigate.

"Don't come- … damn," Edward said weakly, when Alfons poked his head into the living room. Edward sat shirtless, the rubber covering for his prosthetic lying on the table next to him, leaving the gears and metal joints clearly visible.

"I was just oiling it," Edward said, a bit defensively, and turned his body, trying to shield the prosthetic from view. "I thought you'd be home later."

Hesitating, Alfons wondered what to do. Edward had gotten much more comfortable over time, enough that he would let the German touch him even when his arm was off, but he still was terribly sensitive to having the ugly, artificial inside of the arm visible. It was almost as if with the rubber covering he could pretend he was still whole, in some way.

"I'll go put the groceries away," Alfons said, backing out, and Edward shot him a grateful look.

It wasn't about accepting Edward entirely, because he _did_, and his lover knew that.

But he knew that the less attention he paid the prosthetics the happier Edward was, so Alfons didn't mind doing his best.

A few minutes later Edward entered the kitchen to help him, still shirtless, but with his prosthetic safely covered. Alfons watched him quietly for a few minutes, his eyes arrested, as they often were, by the large mark on his back, the physical sign of Edward's death.

Usually he had no problem dismissing the scars, having already gotten quite used to them, but sometimes, like now, the knowledge of the dangerous life they represented hit Alfons hard.

He needed to touch Edward, hold him, reassure himself that Edward was truly still alive. One of his feet moved forward, then the next, the groceries forgotten on the table.

"What's this?" Edward suddenly turned around, holding up the new shirt.

"A shirt?" Alfons stammered, his train of thought momentarily derailed.

"I _know_ it's a shirt," Edward said patiently. "I was just wondering why you feel the need to have _ten_."

"I don't have ten shirts!" Alfons protested, trying to snatch the clothing out of Edward's hand, but it was twitched away as he danced out of reach.

"And they're all white." Edward shook his head, sounding rather disappointed. "Aren't you sick of it yet?"

"I _like_ white shirts." It was ridiculous that despite his longer reach, he was unable to get at the shirt with the way Edward was dodging around him. Finally he managed to pin him against the counter, but Edward still succeeded to keep the shirt away from him, smirking mischievously.

"Give it back," Alfons growled at him.

"No."

On the other hand, Alfons thought, having a shirtless Edward pressed up against him was rather nice, and he would probably be willing to sacrifice a shirt to the cause….

"You're funny," Edward said suddenly. "Anybody else suddenly getting the kind of money we have would probably be going crazy with expensive stuff, and here you're getting kicks off stocking up on white linen shirts." He smiled, and wrapped both arms around Alfons' neck, pulling his head down for a kiss. "I like it."

In the fluttery sort of joy that overcame Alfons whenever Edward pointed out something about him that he liked, followed by a good while of groping and kissing, Alfons didn't notice that he never got his shirt back until much later. He found it in a rather rumpled mess under the table, and sighed over what had once been a pristine and wrinkle-free garment.

Oh well. He could always get another one.

* * *

The days were getting almost-imperceptibly shorter, and the leaves on the trees slowly turned a riot of color. Cold winds blew down the streets and between the university buildings now, and far earlier than Alfons thought necessary, Edward came home one day with a brand-new winter coat. Unlike his old, tattered one from Munich, this one was long and black, and billowed dramatically when Edward walked.

In the weeks since the semester had started Alfons had slowly joined up with a circle of friends he saw often during classes, and who started encouraging him to go out with them in the evenings to visit the many cabarets and clubs in the area.

Alfons had turned them down, mostly out of guilt. How could he go gallivanting about having fun when Edward spent every night holed up with his books and papers, working hard?

He shouldn't forge connections here, he thought. The only reason they had come was in order to facilitate leaving as soon as possible. These friendships would only have to be cut off, so what was the point?

How come Edward wasn't _lonely_?

Alfons fidgeted where he sat on the sofa, and sneaked a glance over at his lover, unable to stand looking at his homework for a moment longer. Honestly, he didn't know how Edward did it, hour after hour, engrossed in calculations.

For that matter, he didn't know how Edward managed to look so pretty while doing it, either, but that was a different issue.

"What did you do today?" he asked Edward suddenly.

Looking up curiously, Edward rubbed at his eyes, and shot him a puzzled look. "I went to university. You know that place we go to every day to learn? There."

The German sighed. "I mean, didn't anything _interesting_ happen there? Don't you talk to people?" _Don't you have any friends, so that we can both go out without my feeling guilty about it?_

"I said 'hello' loads of times today," Edward retorted rather defensively. "I talk to people. I talked to Crane about black holes today-"

"I meant talk about something _personal_," Alfons cut him off.

Edward stared at him. "What's up with you?"

"Humor me."

Pondering the question, Edward chewed pensively on the tip of his pen.

"I mean, _I_ tell _you_ about people I see and what goes on," Alfons elaborated, in the hopes of getting more of a reaction.

"Well," his lover suddenly said, looking away, "today Professor Alder said I was brilliant."

_Huh_?

Catching a glimpse of his face, Edward elaborated, "I submitted a proof to him, and he said it was the most creative way of solving the problem he'd ever seen. And then he said I was brilliant."

Even more extraordinary was the fact that Edward was actually blushing slightly, and had a strange, half-conscious smile on his face.

"He even said he wants to sit with me privately some time and go over what I did."

Alfons gaped. He supposed it made sense, after all, there was no reason that Edward shouldn't be just as susceptible to flattery as anybody else, but-

"It's not like I care!" Edward suddenly said defensively. "I don't care. It doesn't matter. I'm not taking time away from the array over this."

"I didn't say anything," Alfons protested, not quite sure what was going on.

"What's up with you, anyway?" Edward lobbed the proverbial ball back at him in a counterattack.

"Nothing." He paused, then wondered what he had to lose, and decided to bring it up anyway. "Some of the other students are going out tonight. They asked me to go with them."

Edward was quiet for a long time, and Alfons desperately searched his face for emotions. Was that betrayal? Did Edward look left-out, disappointed?

Did Edward even _care_?

"So go." Edward shrugged, and looked back down at his papers.

A sharp regret lanced through him, but Alfons quashed it. He studied Edward for a minute, how he sat hunched over his work, hair obscuring his face.

"Won't you come with me?" he finally asked quietly.

Edward's head jerked up and he met Alfons' eyes for a moment, then looked away.

"There's no point," he said softly. "You know what I think about connections here." He shook himself a bit, and looked down at his books. "Besides, I have work. For that matter, _you_ have work." Reproach was evident in his voice.

Alfons looked over at the electronics homework that had to be finished by tomorrow, and couldn't stomach the thought of another moment of it.

"I'm going," he decided. Edward said nothing, just watched him quietly as he got his jacket and keys, and bid him a quiet farewell.

* * *

Alfons ended up enjoying the evening more than he would have thought possible, given the guilt that still bothered him every so often, and returned home late. The house was dark when he entered, but for a small lamp still on in the living room.

Walking silently so as not to wake Edward, Alfons went to turn off the light he had left on, and found his homework sitting neatly beneath it, the problems all solved in Edward's most painstakingly tidy chicken-scratch, which must have taken him several hours at least to pen.

Staring at the pages, Alfons felt an overwhelming fondness fill him, and he practically ran upstairs, needing to be next to Edward. When he crawled into bed, Edward cracked an eye open, and snuggled sleepily up to him.

Alfons pulled him close, reveling in the feel of him, his scent, and whispered soft thanks. "That was sweet of you," he murmured into Edward's hair.

"Sap," Edward mumbled, but in a pleased way.

* * *

As the array developed, their house rapidly filled with papers, some with detailed theories double-encoded by both Edward's cipher and his atrocious handwriting, and some with bizarre sketches of various sorts. Some were of fanciful creatures rendered in 3D, others of geometric shapes worked into polyhedrons, in addition to numerical series and other calculations.

Edward left his notes everywhere; stacked on the kitchen table and counters, on the living room sofa, on the nightstands in both bedrooms, and tacked up on the refrigerator with magnets. With a stick of cheap lipstick he had bought Edward wrote formulas on the bathroom tile and mirrors, later copying them onto papers.

When Alfons laughed at him, Edward explained flatly that if he had an epiphany while in the shower, he preferred not to have to run out covered with soap just to write it down.

The red marks all over the walls hinted that Edward seemed to have many such epiphanies, which rather justified the lipstick, Alfons supposed. Though he still teased Edward about it every so often.

On the other hand, Alfons put his foot down at having a small notepad under their pillow. There was absolutely no need for that, he argued with Edward, and prevailed, until the night when Edward suddenly had a brainstorm around four AM. After several minutes of hunting and cursing in the dark, Edward had finally grabbed a pen and written his ideas all over Alfons' back, much to Alfons' chagrin.

He capitulated, and the next day, there was a notepad under the pillow, too.

Edward seemed to be utterly focused on his research, but Alfons kept an eye out for erratic behavior just the same. After the first few incidents, Edward hadn't mentioned Professor Alder anymore, which Alfons found rather worrisome, given the odd effect he had had on his lover. It was almost inconceivable that Edward would have let go so easily, so his persistence in pretending nothing was wrong made Alfons wonder if something was stewing.

The only thing out of the ordinary that he picked up was a tendency of Edward's to check the mail zealously. Having many other things on his mind, Alfons put the professor on the back burner, and resolved to wait for further development.

For now, he had enough on his plate. Edward's zeal spurred his own research forward, and he worked ever harder at refining the molts to maximum usefulness. Or at least to the point where Edward could start working with them, giving him more time to improve them.

The prototype he was working on was bulky and lopsided, but Alfons gave up on aesthetics in favor of simply getting it to _work_. Once he knew how to build it, making it more compact and streamlined would be easy, or so he hoped.

In a sense, the molts were becoming his, despite the fact that all the original work on their makeup had been done by Edward. It appeared that the one subject that Edward really wasn't terribly good at was electronics, and he was happy to leave it to Alfons.

Moreover, with the ban on alcohol, and neither of them having yet adopted the blitheness with which other people seemed to break that law, the information lurking in Edward's mind was virtually inaccessible, which meant that Alfons pretty much had to puzzle it out on his own.

He was terribly proud of himself when he realized that he _could_.

At long last, after many hours of work, he led Edward to the laboratory to show him the first version of the final product. Impressive to look at it was not; but both of them were far more interested in the concentrated dot of red light it created on the wall across the room than in fripperies.

Edward intercepted the beam with his hand, and turned it carefully, watching the dot play over his fingers.

"Look," Alfons said, bringing over a mirror. The light bounced cleanly off it, creating a perfect dot, almost no energy lost in the transfer. Edward's face lit up.

"Perfect," he breathed, and Alfons' chest swelled with pride. It felt so good, finally seeing a tangible result of so many months of work.

"And now?" he asked eagerly. "We get a patent?"

Edward frowned. "Of course not. What the hell are you thinking?"

Stung, Alfons shot back, "Why the _hell not_?"

"The moment we get a patent, people will know that these things exist! We're not trying to sell them Alfons, dammit, we're trying to open a Gate! Who the fuck needs a patent?"

"But…" But _why not_? Why couldn't he go down in history for this, if not for rockets?

"We need to build more of them, anyway," Edward said pensively. "Don't look at me like that, Alfons. The last thing we need is the police or who knows who wondering what the fuck two suddenly-rich boys are doing using weird technology to make arcane symbols out of light. Do you _want_ to be burned as a witch?"

Ludicrous argument. "They haven't burned witches in a hundred years!"

"Well, let's fucking not give them a reason to start again!" Edward glowered, and then gave him a verbal sucker-punch: "_Your _first reaction to my body was thinking I was a demon, and you're a scientist! Do you really want to find out what somebody less intelligent would think?"

Alfons didn't miss the roundabout compliment embedded in the sentence, and damn, it made some sort of sense, but that didn't mean he had to like it.

"So what now?" he asked sullenly. "You think building loads of these in university labs is safer? It's a miracle nobody's found this one yet."

"'Course not," Edward snorted. "Now is when we move out to our own labs."

…What?

"What labs?" Alfons wondered, feeling as if he had fallen into some sort of odd parallel universe where things were slightly off.

"The ones we're going to build," his lover grinned up at him. "No reason to let all that gold go to waste, is there?"


	22. Arkham's Shadow

Hello all! A short public service announcement: the wonderful snailtamer sent me links to some adorable fanarts she drew for this fic - check them out at:

snailtamer. deviantart. com/ art/ FMA-red-shirt-83011276 (just kill the spaces) and

snailtamer. deviantart. com/ art/ FMA-demonic-influence-83012603

And now, on with the fic. To make up for lateness, this chapter is longer than usual. (Oh, and this chapter was hell to write. I just felt the need to share that with you all.)

* * *

-

The dot of light on the wall next to them abruptly flickered out, and Edward looked to him questioningly.

Alfons rubbed at his forehead, rather embarrassed, and explained that the molts were still not quite perfected. "This is the general idea, but they're not really stable, yet," he confessed. Darn, he had hoped that Edward wouldn't find out just _how_ imperfect these prototypes were, and that by the time he would actually start working with them Alfons would've managed to make them work better, and not give Edward an excuse to berate him. Edward wasn't usually terribly tolerant of things not working out.

"Hmph," Edward said, poking at the molt, which gave an unenthusiastic flicker, and died again.

"Well, it's really good, regardless," he turned to Alfons, eyes practically shining. "You're… you… thanks," he finally stammered, blushing a bit. "I don't know what I would do without you."

Edward was pleased with him! A grin practically split his face, neatly overriding the surprise at Edward's seldom-heard praise.

At his expression, Edward blushed redder, and Alfons tried to get his emotions under control.

"It's for both of us," he said. "You don't need to thank me. We're a team."

A flash of sadness abruptly flitted across Edward's face, and Alfons knew what he must be remembering.

"Us two against the world, huh." Edward's tone was a bit distant, wistful. Alfons felt a slight pang at that, because he disliked acting in any way that connected him to Edward's brother.

But then, he thought, suddenly feeling stupid, what did he want from Edward? When the man didn't pay attention to him, Alfons felt left out, and when he paid too much attention, Alfons worried that he was just a replacement for his brother. If that was the case, Edward could never win.

Because they were in public, Alfons couldn't hug him, but as they moved together to stow the molt back in its place, he made sure to brush up against Edward so he could squeeze his hand unobtrusively.

"Tell me some more about these labs," he suggested eagerly, changing the subject. A lab that actually belonged to him…. He couldn't wait.

* * *

A week later found them standing in the middle of their very own-

"This isn't a lab," Alfons said, betrayal clear in his voice, which echoed strangely in the open space.

"What's wrong with it?" Edward demanded defensively, crossing his arms.

"How about the fact that it's a _warehouse_!" Alfons sputtered, gesticulating. "What part of _this_ did you exactly look at and think 'oh hey, this looks like a good place to build delicate machinery'?"

"I didn't say it was _finished_, did I?" Edward demanded. "There's going to be stuff inside here. Besides, it's perfect for building the array, that thing's going to take up loads of room."

"But… but…"

"God, you'd think somebody had taken away your favorite toy! Dammit, Alfons, how much money do you think we _have_? What am I, the Bank of England?"

Beneath Edward's annoyance was a thin layer of distress, and Alfons sighed, trying to force himself to accept reality. Their situation was so much better now than it had been in Germany; he shouldn't take his disappointment that it wasn't perfect out on Edward.

"You know what your problem is?" Edward continued. "You're too disconnected from reality! For fuck's sake, be rational! We're two scientists, be thankful we're independently wealthy enough to get _anything_ done! I wasn't going to say anything, but you seriously need to get your feet back on the ground and start thinking of things in terms of what can actually be _done_-"

Alfons couldn't stand it anymore, and cracked up. Edward was immediately offended, and huffed in annoyance.

"And you really need to kick that hyena habit of yours!" When Edward got going, it took a natural disaster to get him to stop. "Here I am, trying to have an _intelligent_ conversation with you, voicing a _legitimate complaint_, and you're too busy laughing at me to listen!"

"_Reality_," Alfons wheezed helplessly. "We're building a… an alchemic array out of bizarre light beams… and… opening a… haha… portal into the _fourth dimension_… and you're lecturing me about _reality_?"

"_I_ think it's perfectly realistic," Edward retorted flatly.

Screw it, Alfons thought, and pounced. Not expecting the attack Edward went down with an undignified yelp, and for possibly the first time since they had met Alfons managed to wrestle him to the ground.

"The hell is up with you?" Edward growled, trying to grab his wrists, while Alfons determinedly mussed his hair and tugged his clothes into disarray.

"Admit it!" he grunted, grinning despite the knee he had taken to the stomach, somehow managing to eel his way out of Edward's grip. "We're crazy, Edward, we're mad, loony, off our rockers, we've gone round the bend, out of our minds-"

Finally getting a good grip on him, Edward flipped him over, pinning him down firmly with his wrists above his head.

"- and you _love it_," Alfons finished, trying to keep his screaming lungs under control. "Admit it, Edward."

Raising an eyebrow at him, Edward shook his head slightly. "I certainly think _you're_ crazy."

"I like it," Alfons breathed. "I like your crazy."

Edward was gorgeous, hovering above him with color in his cheeks, breathing a bit heavily, his hair straggling messily out of his ponytail, and that damnable red shirt which made him go wild.

Before he knew what was happening they were kissing furiously, Alfons arching up as much as he could with his wrists still pinned to the floor, their tongues clashing, and Alfons wanted Edward right then and there, on the warehouse floor –

"Shit!"

He wasn't sure who came to the realization first, but they pulled apart as if burned, Alfons scrubbing at his mouth, Edward blushing furiously.

Of all the idiotic things they could be doing...

Several minutes passed in silence before Alfons finally spoke from where he had retreated, about a meter away from Edward.

"Do you think somebody saw us?" he asked in a small voice.

"Considering the police haven't shown up yet, I suppose not." Edward pushed to his feet, and gave Alfons a hand up.

They spent a few minutes fixing their clothes, tucking shirts back into pants and smoothing out wrinkles. Then Alfons retied Edward's ponytail for him, and Edward roughly raked the German's hair back into an approximation of order. There was another tense moment when they were too close together, Edward's fingers rubbing against Alfons' scalp – but they stepped back quickly, unwilling to take such a risk.

"Let's go." Edward deliberately turned his back and stalked towards the entrance, Alfons quickly following him.

* * *

The way home was interminably long. Several times Edward hesitantly tried to make conversation about various topics, but Alfons found himself completely unable to focus. He lost the thread of one when he found his eyes captivated by Edward's ear, half visible behind a curtain of hair, and imagined the sound Edward would make when he nibbled on it... The second time, it was Edward's wrist. At some point Edward gave up and just watched Alfons quietly for a few moments, then sighed in defeat.

Alfons turned his attention to his watch, obsessively following the minute hand. God, how long did the stupid tram take to get to their house? Maybe there was something wrong with his watch.

"Are we going slower?" he demanded of Edward. "I'm sure it took us less time on the way there."

"No, I think we're going _really_ fast. It's the true application of Einstein's theory. Time has stopped," Edward said mournfully, staring out the window. "We'll never get there. Don't talk to me."

At long last the endless trip was over, and they ran inside, practically stumbling over each other in an attempt to get the door closed and locked.

Only in the privacy of their home, behind sealed doors and windows, could they indulge in each other completely.

* * *

The list of things they needed in order to both outfit their lab and supply Alfons with materials for the molts grew longer and longer, and Alfons was beginning to wonder how they were going to afford it. Even with an income from Michaels, at the rate they were spending, they'd be broke in no time – true, broke plus house and lab and who knew what else, but lacking funds just the same. Now Alfons was whittling away at it, trying to figure out how they could cut back on costs.

Their sofa really was perfect, he thought absently. It was soft enough to be comfortable to sit on for long hours, and large enough so that there was room for Edward to drape himself across Alfons' lap as he read a large tome on economics and stock exchange. Alfons wasn't sure how Edward managed to keep everything straight in his mind.

The arrangement was nice, though, providing Alfons with a flat surface – in the form of Edward's back – to put his papers on, and plenty of opportunities to grope. The only disadvantage was that his legs tended to fall asleep.

"Hey," he poked at Edward's side, making him jump and squirm a bit. "I need to get up. It's time for me to go."

His lover whined a protest. "But I'm comfortable..."

"I set with people; they're going to be waiting." He worked both hands under Edward's torso, and tried to pry him off. "Why don't you come with me?"

Rolling off of him, Edward looked away and shrugged. "Can't. I have too much work."

Why did Edward always have so much to do, yet Alfons managed to find free time? As always, he wondered if he was somehow slacking off, creating more work for Edward.

"I'm not surprised, considering you seem to have randomly decided to study economics as well," Alfons snorted.

The look on Edward's face abruptly switched to irritation, and he glared at Alfons. "You didn't think I was going to all this trouble because I was _bored_, did you? Why the fuck do you _think_ I'm looking this up?"

Surprised, Alfons paused to consider, and the answer was so obvious he really did feel stupid. "Money," he said. "If we invest, we could make more money, and be able to afford everything for the labs."

"Congratulations," Edward said, sitting back down and reopening the book.

Watching him slightly sadly, Alfons finally asked why Edward hadn't asked him for help.

"You work so hard already," Edward replied in an almost carefully neutral tone. "What with homework and the molts, you barely have any free time. It's so important to you to hang out with these people... The least I can do is make sure that you can spend whatever time you have on weekends however makes you happy. If it means that I have to work a bit harder, I don't care."

And damn if that answer didn't just make Alfons feel guiltier, but after that line he couldn't _not_ go, so he kissed Edward goodbye.

"Have fun."

There was no irony in the words; only a slight sense of wistfulness, and Alfons did his best to smile and promise he would, telling himself that he would yet get Edward out with him.

* * *

Their lab started to take shape over the next few weeks, bringing about a new difficulty. The warehouse, which had seemed so immense and echoing when empty, suddenly looked a lot smaller when they drew out a floor plan for it.

Edward insisted that their first purchase be generators, as they were the most expensive and the most important component of the array besides the molts themselves. The obvious reason was that without power the molts couldn't run, but something about the way Edward spoke hinted that they had a secondary purpose as well. Alfons promised himself to grab Edward for a serious discussion about how exactly the array was supposed to work, but things were so hectic right now that it kept on getting put off.

Convincing himself that if there was anything he needed to know, Edward would find the time to tell him, Alfons pushed it to the back of his mind, and concentrated on what needed to be done. Since the generators couldn't be kept outside they were set up indoors, one against each wall, and their sheer size worried Alfons already. If they needed any more of them, how was everything going to _fit_?

The floor was ostensibly split into two parts – the inner, against the far wall from the door, for Edward to build the array in, and the nearer for Alfons to construct molts. Privately, Alfons had absolutely no doubt that in no time they would be quarreling over the space much in the way they often bickered over blankets. Deciding to get a head start on the encroaching, he had the porters set up the metalworking machinery a bit past the invisible demarcation line down the center of the lab. Besides, he needed more room to spread out, anyway; all Edward needed was room to build the array itself.

Thankfully, the building came equipped with water piping and electricity in addition to a bathroom next to a small office right off the main room, so they didn't have to spend additional money on utilities. A fully-stocked icebox and stove were set up in the office, already anticipating many days of work at the lab with no opportunity to run home for meals.

On the other hand, Alfons thought to himself as he watched Edward supervise their installation, the chances that they would actually remember to use said amenities were fairly slim. Sometimes it was easier to just go hungry for a few more hours than take the time and effort to put something edible together.

As their purchases multiplied, the amount of spare cash in their possession lessened drastically until they found themselves deciding to put aside money for food and bills every month to make sure they didn't find themselves lacking. Either way, it looked like they would have to wait another month until Alfons could start stocking the maze of shelving at the entrance to the warehouse, because they barely had enough money for machinery, let alone the materials he needed to get to work on the molts themselves. For now, he would have to content himself with continuing experimentation furtively in the university laboratories, and hoping nobody asked uncomfortable questions.

With the construction of their labs the workload also multiplied to the point where Alfons was practically collapsing in exhaustion. The quality of his homework assignments took a turn for the worse, and though he spent the week before the midterms doing practically nothing but study, some of his grades were less than encouraging.

He didn't have the heart to complain to Edward, though, who seemed to be fairly successfully juggling a million tasks, and had enough on his mind anyway without worrying about one or two flagging grades of Alfons'.

He would study hard for the finals, Alfons promised himself, and spent more hours than ever at the labs trying to stabilize the molt beams.

The harder he worked the more necessary the weekly outings with his friends became to his mental health. He needed to unwind _sometime_, and Edward was so tense and busy lately that he didn't want to bother him, yet… he still couldn't let go of the part of him that desperately wanted to take Edward with him, to introduce him to people, to make him part of the group.

Edward's standard party-line whenever he brought this up was that there was no reason to make friends, as they would be leaving as soon as possible, but Alfons refused to give up. It took him weeks of cajoling, prodding, and making a general nuisance of himself, but finally Edward gave in and agreed to accompany him to some of the clubs where the students liked hanging out.

Privately, Alfons had a suspicion that he had agreed more to get Alfons off his case than out of any real desire to meet new people, but the result was what was important.

At long last, he got a grumbling Edward dressed and out of the house, cheerful despite the sullen look on Edward's face.

"I still don't think this is the best idea," Edward muttered under his breath, hands deep in his pockets as he walked beside Alfons.

"Oh, come on," Alfons encouraged, "it's not good for you to be so anti-social!" It was perfunctory, really, because now that they were out of the house, Edward wouldn't back out; his pride wouldn't let him.

"This is such a waste of time. I could probably finish calculating a whole curve instead of all this socializing."

At this point, Alfons knew enough to ignore the griping, and just grinned a little. "I'm sure you'll have fun," he promised. "It's not like drinking with the guys, because there's no alcohol here, but there's music, and discussions with students from different faculties…" A grin stole onto his face in anticipation. He only wished Edward was looking forward to this as much as he was.

The streets were alive with pedestrians, the many shops and cabarets along Harvard Avenue being a popular student destination. Nervous, Alfons cast another glance back at Edward. He really hoped Edward _would_ enjoy himself. It was always difficult for him to shake the guilt when he came back late, giddy and euphoric from a night of fun, to find Edward asleep over his books at the kitchen table. Having a place they could go together would be nice.

"In here," he tugged on Edward's sleeve, leading him into Cheers, his usual haunt. Noise greeted their entrance, a combination of the live music and people talking. Edward looked daunted, but Alfons didn't let him retreat, and led him towards where his 'crowd' was.

They were greeted with enthusiasm, and people moved about, making room for them.

"Oh, this must be Edward!" Winifred immediately enthused.

"That is right," Alfons grinned. "Meet Edward, my research partner who never comes out." This was where Edward was supposed to gripe good naturedly.

"Hey," Edward managed in a strangled voice, an almost terrified edge to it. A quick glance confirmed that Edward's eyes were wide, and he looked about as frightened as he sounded.

Not good. Better move on with the introductions quickly.

"Edward meet Russell Weller," he gestured at the blond, who grinned, "Cain Rosenberg," the small, black-haired physics student waved. Edward was starting to look ill.

"Frank Hamilton," Alfons continued. Pale and reserved, Frank just nodded a greeting, and Edward swallowed convulsively. "Zolf Kramer, his girlfriend Winifred Parker."

"S-_she's_ with _him_?" Edward blurted in horror.

"_Edward_!" Alfons snapped, shocked. None of the others seemed to take it well, either. Russell, always with a quick temper, jumped up.

"And what's _that_ supposed to mean?" he snarled, stepping close to Edward, who took an involuntary step back.

The situation had to be taken care of _quickly_, but Alfons wasn't quite sure how to fix it; things had escalated so fast….

"I… I just…_ shit_," Edward said, backing away.

Winifred sniffed, and leaned over to pat Zolf's shoulder comfortingly. "I don't know who you think you are-" she told Edward hotly, "but I'll appreciate you keeping your notions to yourself."

"It's hard to believe someone like Alfons works with a shit like you," Russell snapped, making Alfons protest in reaction.

"Shut up," Edward snarled, taking a threatening step forward. "I _know_ her, she would never date a-" He choked off the words, having apparently only just realized what he was saying.

"Edward…?" Alfons said weakly. It looked like at least two of the people here were people Edward knew from his world. Damn.

And then Edward panicked, taking a few quick steps backwards, before he turned and bolted.

"I don't believe I've met him before," Winifred managed.

"In all your descriptions of him, you neglected to tell us that he's apparently insane," Frank observed dryly.

Alfons flinched, torn. He wanted to run after Edward, but at the same time, he wouldn't make the same mistake he had before, of allowing everybody to consider Edward mad.

"He is not easy to become used to," Alfons said, and there were snorts of agreement all around. A different tack might work better. "He had rough childhood," he tried to come up with something that made sense. "He lost his family in the war, and was very shell-shocked. Sometimes he remembers that suddenly." …or however you said 'flashback' in English.

The general feeling towards Edward still wasn't friendly, but the level of animosity seemed to have dropped a bit.

"So you're saying he's not a bastard, he's just deranged," Russell translated, making Alfons' stomach twist, because presenting Edward as pitiful rather than a bastard hadn't been his intention.

"I am going to find him," he said, ignoring the comment because he didn't know what else to do. He gave a halfhearted wave, and hurried after Edward. Too much time had been lost – Edward could be _anywhere_ by now. Dodging around other students, he made the best time he could out the door, and then paused, his heart sinking as he took in the throngs wandering about the streets.

How was he going to find Edward in all this mess? Would Edward have gone home, or would he be hiding somewhere? Striding quickly, Alfons started making his way towards their apartment, all the while keeping an eye out for Edward.

Shit, he thought. And he had been so optimistic about it too – how did Edward always manage to come off as crazy? If only he had better control of himself...

He was getting a bit tired of coming up with excuses for him.

Half an hour of wandering brought no results, and Alfons quashed the small part of him that just wanted to call it a night and go back to the club. The thought of Edward wandering around, humiliated and depressed was enough to spur him on.

Finally he lucked out, chancing to spy a familiar figure slumped on a bench in a small park, half shrouded in darkness.

"Edward?" he called softly, as much a confirmation as to warn Edward he was coming, so he wouldn't bolt again. Elbows on his knees, Edward sat with his head hanging, not even bothering to try and run. Alfons sat down beside him, thankful for the darkness which allowed him to put an arm around Edward and pull him close.

"You shouldn't have come," Edward said, his voice muffled against Alfons' chest. "A fuckup like me shouldn't ruin your fun."

He would never understand this, Alfons thought sadly. Why was Edward so resistant to comfort? And why did Edward always feel the need to put himself down, talk about himself more harshly than he did about anybody else?

"It's not fun if you're not there," he insisted, running the fingers of one hand up to tangle in Edward's ponytail. He didn't know how to communicate how desperately he wanted Edward to be able to join him, to share in these small everyday things.

"They're people you knew, aren't they?" he asked.

Edward nodded, slightly relaxed by Alfons' ministrations, and was now picking absently at Alfons' pants leg with one hand.

"Cain…Fury, he was in my unit, in the army. Russell was an alchemist, he pretended to be me once, a few years back…" Edward paused, his voice catching a bit. "Frank Archer, he was one disgusting son of a bitch, had no morals, didn't care about anything, as long as he got a promotion.

"Zolf. Kimblee," Edward shuddered, his hand closing to fist in Alfons' clothes, "the Crimson Alchemist. A psychopath. He was a murderer, used to blow people up… he died in Lior, though. And Winry…" here Edward trailed off, and Alfons didn't prod.

He knew who Winry was.

"Come here," he said softly, tilting Edward's head back to press a kiss to his lips. "It's going to be okay," he murmured, molding Edward to him, and kissing him again firmly.

"We're in public," Edward muttered, turning his head away.

At that moment, Alfons didn't really care whether or not they were in public, and whined a protest, not wanting to break the kiss. It was dark out anyway, nobody would see them...

"You should go back." Persistent in his evasion, Edward leaned away and tried to disentangle Alfons' arms from around him.

"Please come with me." Things could still turn out alright. Having worked so hard to convince Edward to be a bit social, he wasn't going to give up so quickly. He refused to loosen his arms, running his hands over Edward's stomach, feeling the hard muscle camouflaged by loose clothing.

Edward sighed, and Alfons felt the movement of his diaphragm against his fingers. For a moment he leaned back, resting his head on Alfons' chest, and when he next spoke, the words were soft.

"I'm so pathetic," he said bleakly. "You'd think that after all this time I'd have gotten used to it. Every time I see people… confound it, I can't fall apart every time this happens."

Alfons didn't really want to argue with him, because it was true, but agreeing wouldn't really be a supportive thing to do. "Don't you think it's strange that you meet so many of them? I mean," he laughed a bit shakily, "what are the odds?"

Edward was silent for a bit, and when he spoke his tone was thoughtful. "There has to be some kind of cosmic pattern. If people truly are parallels of each other then maybe there's some sort of balance drawing them together… how else would parallel Hughes and parallel Gracia…?" He laughed also, but there was a bitter edge to it. The words _or you and I_ were left unsaid. "Call it destiny, that's as good a name as any."

Actually, Alfons thought it hinted at Somebody having created this whole mess in the first place, but kept it to himself.

Edward suddenly tightened his arms around Alfons.

"I want to go home," he said wistfully, hopelessly. The words felt like a spear in Alfons' chest. He had never heard Edward say it so clearly before, and for a moment, he thought he understood how alchemists might sacrifice themselves in Equivalent Exchange. At that moment, if he could have, he would have given anything if only Edward could get home again and be happy.

His arms tightened in reaction, and he buried his face in Edward's neck. "Don't be alone," he begged. "Come back with me. Just stay until the end of the night. If you still hate it, I promise I won't ask again."

"Fine," Edward muttered. "I'll try."

* * *

Their second time entering was not nearly as dramatic as the first. Knowing what to expect, Edward didn't panic, but he was oddly subdued, preferring to sit silently in a corner, almost afraid to speak lest he say the wrong thing.

The initial nervousness faded after a while, though there was a marked carefulness whenever anybody addressed a comment at Edward – and even then, it was patently obvious that they were only making an effort to include him because Alfons was there. Alfons seriously hoped his lover wouldn't pick up on that, but was afraid he would; Edward was never as oblivious as he seemed.

Eventually, though, the general air of festivity around them and the soda made people perk up, and conversations were in full swing again, though Edward wasn't a terribly active participant. Alfons was unhappy about it, but decided that maybe it was a good thing. They would get used to Edward's presence, and Edward would become comfortable in theirs, eventually.

As the evening wore on and the conversation turned to science, Edward was finally coaxed out of his shell into arguing physics. After several impeccable proofs and examples of lightning-quick calculation, a grudging respect for his intellect managed to slightly override their instinctive repulsion.

At some point, in the middle of one of Frank's methodical discourses, Zolf got up – to go get more drinks, or maybe a bathroom break. Alfons wouldn't have noticed it at all, if Edward hadn't gotten up immediately after, and followed him. Losing the trail of the story, Alfons watched worriedly, hoping it wouldn't come to blows, as Edward caught up with Zolf, and began talking to him earnestly. Zolf appeared to be listening, and finally nodded and said something back, which made Edward smile a bit, and then the two went their separate ways.

"Alfons? Alfons!"

"Huh?" Alfons blinked, to find Winifred watching him reproachfully. "What?"

"Never you mind," she said, a bit crossly, frowning at him. Alfons couldn't resist one last gaze towards Edward, who was returning to their table with a rather more cheerful mien, or maybe just a less unhappy one. Following his gaze, Winifred's eyes came to rest on Edward as well.

"You're awfully protective of him," she commented.

Alfons didn't really want to talk about it, and he most certainly didn't want to bring up Edward's inadvertent insult again, but then, he _wanted_ them to like Edward. "He needs being protected," Alfons said, preoccupied. What would become of Edward if something were to happen to him? Who would take care of Edward, then?

"You're a good guy," Winifred said suddenly, and Alfons looked at her, startled. "I'm gonna set you up with one of my girlfriends. A nice guy like you, I can't believe you haven't been snapped up yet!"

Startled, he only managed an almost strangled "What?" Thankfully, he succeeded in keeping all other inappropriate responses inside, up to and including, _I've been 'snapped up' for more than two years now, ever since I set eyes on him_.

"Veronica," Winifred mused. "I could see you going with her. Or maybe Anna, she's more bookish. You _do_ want a smart one, right?"

"I… uh… I suppose…" Alfons stammered, looking around for help, only to find that Zolf had returned, and was apparently amused by his predicament. Honestly, Zolf and Winifred together were like two sharks, sometimes.

"We could ask Edward what type he likes," Zolf suggested. "He might know, being his cousin and all."

"Know what?" Edward wondered, rejoining the table.

There was a slight pause, as if each person were waiting for someone else to speak, and finally Cain took it upon himself.

"They're trying to set Alfons up with a girl," he explained, a bit embarrassed. "My sisters can spend hours matching people up," he added in a mutter.

"So? What dark secrets can you tell us about Alfons' preferences?" Zolf asked Edward. Alfons wasn't sure when –or how- the two had become at all chummy, but he wasn't appreciating it.

"Dark secrets, huh?" Edward smirked, an unpleasant edge to the expression which made Alfons extremely uncomfortable. "Well…" he drawled, "From what I've seen, Alfons has a weird thing for the occult."

"_Edward_!" Alfons snapped, horrified.

"It really was embarrassing," Edward continued, faux-reluctantly, ignoring Alfons. "There we were, Thursday night in the pub, when suddenly this girl walks in-"

None of Alfons' protests made any impression whatsoever, and they were completely ineffective against Edward's ridiculously fabricated story about mistaken identity, which nonetheless managed to pretty much murder Alfons' personality. Some of the elements of the story were vaguely recognizable from other stories of Edward's, and Alfons would have probably found it rather amusing if he wasn't the butt of it.

Finally the ordeal was over with an utterly improbable conclusion, and snickering broke out around the table.

"It's not funny," he mumbled, wishing he could bury himself. He wasn't sure that anybody quite believed it, in fact they probably didn't, but it was still embarrassing to listen to. Either way, he decided that a change of subject would be prudent.

It was only much later that Alfons noticed that talk never did return to potential girlfriends for him that night.

* * *

"_Well_?" Alfons asked, when they had finally left, walking home through the emptying streets.

"Well what?" Edward muttered, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Admit it, you had fun," Alfons elbowed him teasingly. Edward shrugged away, looking surly.

"'Fun' is an awfully strong word. It could have been worse," was all Edward was willing to concede to.

"I told you, you don't get out enough," Alfons said archly, grinning at the way Edward was stubbornly refusing to acknowledge that maybe there were some nice things here after all.

"It went surprisingly well, considering that _someone_ seemed to be doing their very best to present me as a maniac," Edward snarled.

"W-what?" Alfons stammered, blindsided.

"Shell shock?" Edward practically shouted. "It wasn't enough that I _looked_ insane, you had to go and _confirm_ it, you bastard?"

"I never said you were insane!" Alfons said defensively.

"Of course," Edward snapped, eyes flashing. "That's why Fury felt the need to come up to me and express his condolences, and assure me that he understood it must be difficult for me."

"What the hell did you want me to say?" Alfons snapped back furiously. "You sure _sounded_ like it – the least I could do was give a legitimate reason for your behavior!"

"You could have fucking told them it was none of their fucking business!" Edward came to a stop, fists clenched by his sides, and Alfons had never seen that sort of fury directed at him before. "You could have told them to ask _me_! You're supposed to be a fucking _genius_, and you couldn't think of anything better than _telling_ them I was _crazy_?"

"_I did not tell them you were crazy_!" Alfons shouted. "Shell-shock is not the same thing! I just told them you lost your family and sometimes had flashbacks! Can you please stop blaming _me_ for the fact that you can't cope?"

"When a person loses grasp of reality and reacts to things that aren't there, _that is insanity_!" Edward cried back, some other emotion threatening to break through his anger. "Is that what you fucking think of me? Are you so ashamed of me that you'd rather people think I was _certified_ than just wonder a bit at your taste in friends?"

"That's not- _get back here_!"

Edward had turned his back and was stalking away, and Alfons rushed after him, grabbing his shoulder.

"Don't you turn your back on me now!" he growled. "We are damn well going to finish this conversation!" His anger was now battling with horror, because he hadn't meant to _do_ that to Edward, all he wanted was to share his friends, and he wasn't ashamed, he could never be ashamed of Edward –

Edward roughly pried his fingers off, making Alfons yelp in pain and cradle his hand, but his pace didn't falter.

Alfons stalked after him in silence, vowing to hash this out when they got home, and not in front of the entire neighborhood.

When they got to their house, Edward very nearly slammed the front door in his face, and stormed straight into the nearest bedroom, this time managing to shut Alfons outside.

There was a click of the bolt being thrown, and Alfons stared at the door in disbelief. Had he just been locked out of his own room?

"Open up!" he shouted, banging on the door. "We're not done talking!"

Edward had never cut him off like this before, and Alfons was starting to be truly worried. If he couldn't _reach_ Edward, how was he supposed to fix things?

"Yes, we are." Edward's voice was muffled through the door. "I really don't think discussing my various mental problems is necessary. I've quite understood your point."

"You were acting Goddamn crazy!" Alfons shouted furiously. "What the hell was I supposed to do? What else could I have said? Please tell me, since _you're _so smart! And let me in, damn it!"

"I told you this was a stupid fucking idea in the first place!" Edward yelled back. "What did you have do drag me out there for? I don't care about this stupid world, and it doesn't care about me! So I fucked up, so big deal, just _go away_ already!"

Leaning his forehead against the door, Alfons closed his eyes. "I wanted to show you off," he said, voice cracking slightly. When he looked at Edward, he saw somebody amazing; he just wanted other people to see what he saw.

"Right," Edward answered bitterly. "There's a brilliant idea for you. 'Showing off' your nutter of a 'cousin'."

"That is _not_ fair!" Alfons snapped, kicking the door angrily. "I didn't present you as my crazy cousin! I presented you as my brilliant research partner! Then you freaked, and what was I supposed to say?"

"Well, if _I'm_ so fucked up, maybe you want to be with someone else!" Edward shouted back, and Alfons froze.

Hadn't they been through this already? he wondered despairingly. What was he doing wrong? He thought he had convinced Edward, firmly and irrevocably, that he wanted nobody else. Wasn't leaving his country _enough_?

"You're talking nonsense and you know it," he told Edward flatly, his annoyance resurfacing. "And after all the crap you put me through, you're not getting rid of me this easily. You're stuck with me, you hear me?" He had _not_ given up his _life_ and come to this country where he spoke the language like crap just to let Edward's stupid issues ruin everything.

"Fuck off!"

"Make me." The challenge hung in the air, and Alfons waited for a few moments, before it became clear that Edward wasn't going to reply any more.

Well, fine, he thought. He could be stubborn too. Stalking over to the other room, he dragged a blanket off the bed and returned to curl up on the floor right next to the door to Edward's room.

Let the stupid bastard trip over him the next morning, for all he cared.

* * *

-

_Now, I just want to announce that in about a week it's going to be the one year anniversary for this fic, which actually boggles me a bit. _

_I've been taking a look at the fic as a whole, trying to see what I've improved in and what not, what works and what doesn't, and as such any comments and constructive criticism would be extremely welcome, especially now (honestly, even pointing out something small that especially worked for you is helpful). Either way, I wouldn't have gotten this far without your help and support, so I'd like to give you all a great big thank you, and lots of love. I will continue trying to do my best, and hope you continue enjoying this story._


	23. Hacking the Universe 101

Sleeping on the hallway floor to make a statement was all well and good, except for the fact that it mostly precluded actual sleep. The annoying thing was that Alfons had slept comfortably in much worse conditions while he and Edward had been searching for the gold mine – with rocks underneath them, for one, and hardly any blankets to ward off the chill.

But that night he dozed fitfully, unable to get comfortable on the cool, hard wood of the floor, curling into a ball inside the blanket, only to shift again when his back and legs started cramping up. Months of sleeping on large, soft mattresses had made him wimpy, he thought to himself vaguely at some point when he woke up to roll over.

Eventually he managed to fall into a deeper sleep, only it seemed that he had hardly closed his eyes when something large and painful hit him.

"Holy _fuck_!"

The large something – which appeared to be Edward, now that Alfons opened his eyes to look around curiously – had tripped over him and gone flying, and was now pushing himself into sitting position on the floor.

"The fuck, Alfons?" Edward sputtered, looking at him incredulously.

"Good morning," Alfons answered, a bit mournfully. He had been sleeping _well_, finally.

"Don't you 'good morning' me!" Edward gestured at him in indignation. "What are you _doing_?"

"I _was_ sleeping. Until you tripped over me." Last night's argument was returning to him in bits and pieces, stealing what little peace the morning had brought.

"On the _floor_?"

"You wouldn't let me into the room," he said quietly, and that made Edward pause, a look of – pain? flitting across his face.

"See there?" Edward pointed down the hall. "There's another room. With a bed and everything."

Which really wasn't the point.

But if they were already here, and Edward seemed more amenable to talking, Alfons decided not to give in, and have it out once and for all.

"I don't like what you did last night," Alfons said. "If you're mad at me, tell me why, don't lock me out of the room and sulk."

Edward's shoulders slumped, and he rubbed tiredly at his eyes, which Alfons only now noticed were slightly red-rimmed and had dark smudges underneath them.

"Well, fuck you, too," his lover said with a sigh. "You just wander off every time you want away from me. So you can bloody well fuck off when I want you to."

"What?" Alfons demanded. "When do I want away from you? What are you talking about?" A few seconds later he figured out what Edward might be getting at, and felt a stab of annoyance. "And if you're talking about the time I spend out with the other students – I've been after you to come with me for weeks now! You're the one who never wants to come!"

"Maybe because I have more important things to do with my time," Edward snapped.

The accusation hidden in the words was impossible to miss. "I'm building the molts for you, what else do you want from me?" Alfons demanded. "I need to unwind _sometime, _for God's sake! And you yourself said it was fine for me to go!"

Edward opened his mouth to counterattack, but suddenly went silent, dropping his gaze to the ground. "I suppose you're right," he said, defeated, and that almost annoyed Alfons even more, but at least now Edward was admitting it.

"I'm sorry," Edward mumbled dejectedly, the words a bit stiff. He looked miserable, and Alfons suddenly felt bad about being so harsh.

"Look, it's fine." He lay a hand on Edward's shoulder, squeezing gently. Edward's muscles were tense, and he shook Alfons' hand off.

"I need to get going." Edward still wouldn't meet his eyes, and tried to push to his feet, but his mechanical leg failed to respond. "Shit!"

"Is it broken?" Alfons asked worriedly. He hadn't even considered that possibility when he'd decided to sleep on the floor, and now felt rather guilty. Edward only had so many replacement limbs...

"Yeah," Edward grunted. "Help me up, I can't walk like this."

Holding out his hand, Alfons pulled Edward to his feet and helped him back into the room. The spare legs were in the other room, so he ran to get one for Edward while he disconnected the damaged one, and then hovered worriedly as he watched Edward hook it up.

Throughout the process, Alfons waited for Edward to get pissed off and tell him what a moron he was for lying on the floor all night and breaking his leg to boot, but Edward never did. For that matter, the man didn't say much of anything for the rest of the morning until he set off to their warehouse, leaving Alfons at home to catch up on homework, since the university library was closed on Sundays.

* * *

After several hours of plodding through subjects which only interested him because of their possible applicability – finally, he understood what rocketry had been like for Edward, what it felt like to have an obsession to which all other ideas are tangential, to see everything as a means to an end – he had finished enough to not feel guilty about leaving it at that. He wanted to get to the lab already, to be working on his own inventions, instead of working out theoretical formulae just for the sake of solving them. Edward honestly liked theoretical math, but Alfons didn't enjoy it nearly as much as the practical stuff.

Lately their house was looking slightly less like a madman's nest, now that Edward had started transferring his copious notes to the warehouse and working on them there. Not that the materials were entirely gone – their bathroom walls were still covered with lipstick marks, and Alfons was always afraid of cleaning up the kitchen table for fear of accidentally trashing some irreplaceable note.

Not that he was particularly prone to cleaning in general, but sometimes the mood struck him, when things got _too _messy.

Casting a glance around, he pushed some papers into slightly less messy piles, moved the library books around, and called it organized.

Now, he thought in anticipation, time to get to work.

* * *

Though he had gotten used to various strangers traipsing in and out of their warehouse at all hours, he was rather surprised to find Edward in serious discussion with three unfamiliar men. Odd. There weren't supposed to be any deliveries today, were there?

He had enough lenses and rubies for now, and while he should probably get his hands on some better conductors, he hadn't ordered any yet.

"Oh, Alfons." Edward suddenly noticed him, and waved him over. "You're here, good. I figured it was time to start hiring, so-"

_What_?

Alfons flicked his eyes over at the men standing expectantly, and grabbed Edward's elbow to drag him aside for a quick conference, tossing a quick "Excuse us for a moment" at the men.

"How exactly does this fit in with your secrecy policy?" he demanded, carefully keeping his voice lowered.

"That's why I hired people who aren't scientists," Edward explained. "They aren't in any position to be analyzing what we're doing."

"You could've warned me in advance," Alfons mumbled, rather annoyed at being caught flat-footed.

Edward looked honestly surprised. "I thought we agreed that I would take care of everything else until you finished developing the molts," he protested, sounding almost worried. "You work hard, I didn't think you'd have a problem with-"

"I don't," Alfons said quickly. "Just remind me, if they don't know anything about science, how are they supposed to help us?"

Looking relieved, Edward tugged him back to where the men had waited quietly throughout their exchange, and explained.

"Alfons, this is Sam Dawes, who is going to be our watchman, along with his sons. I figure with the type of machinery we have here, it's worth having a guard at all hours."

Alfons nodded at Dawes, a cheerful-looking middle-aged man, with more white in his hair than black and a capable mien, who nodded back at him.

Edward continued, motioning at the two others. "These are Jeremiah Zeller, and Ira Englemann, and they're going to be working for you for now."

Zeller was a large man, and he held out a callused hand, and Alfons shook both his and the light-complexioned Englemann's hands. From the way they looked, both had probably been craftsmen of some sort before Edward had hired them.

"Basically, they're here to do whatever you need done in order to get the molts working," Edward continued. "I don't need any help with the array yet, though I should be ready to start working with the molts in a few weeks, so they're all yours for now."

Alfons nodded slowly, sneaking an uncomfortable glance at the two men, who were waiting expectantly for orders.

There were a few minutes of silence, until Alfons started wondering if he was supposed to be saying something, but then Edward spoke again.

"I guess everything's okay, then." He shrugged, and ran fingers through his bangs. "Well, I'll get back to my diagrams, then. Have fun, Alfons."

Alfons watched quietly as Edward wandered off in the direction of his work area, which mostly consisted of a large table pushed up against the wall, with several light fixtures hanging over it, ensuring that the light was sufficient from any angle you wanted to sketch in. Right now, the table was stacked with folders, each one containing sketches of various elements of the array. Pencils, rulers, angles, and various other drafting materials were kept in drawers under the table, or more often, left out on the table itself.

Alfons frowned, realizing that he _still_ wasn't quite clear on how the array was going to work. Once again, he made a mental note to have a discussion about that with Edward at some point.

His attention was suddenly drawn back to the two men waiting for instructions, and he wasn't sure what to do. The idea of ordering about two men who were far older than him was rather foreign. He was so used to always having to do everything himself. What was he supposed to _do_ with them?

He cleared his throat. "Well, we should be working also. Come with me." He turned and led them to his work area, his mind already working over possibilities of what he could do with them. "Do any one of you know to work with metal?"

"I've done steel grinding and welding," Zeller said.

Hmm, so if he could put Zeller in charge of making the molt casings, that would already save a lot of time. And he could show Englemann how to set the convex mirrors, or maybe teach him how to rig up the tungsten spools for the lightbulb filaments, which would leave him free to try and figure out the maximum output to energy consumption with the rubies. So far, the only medium that created the beam they wanted when primed with a flash lamp was a ruby, which rather frustrated him. There _had _to be something better. The rubies were horribly expensive, and not terribly efficient.

So if he showed Englemann how to connect the molt components, and got out the blueprints for Zeller to start welding – and he needed more protective goggles, then, if more people were going to work, and he really should put together something to mask the lamp flash, it couldn't be good for the eyes.

But that meant that instead of making any advances, he would be spending – _wasting_ – hours just modifying the work area!

"Mister Heiderich," Zeller began, and Alfons nearly jumped, having forgotten they were still standing there. God, how mortifying.

"How about if you start doing your scientific stuff, and we watch, and you explain what you're doing every so often?" the man suggested reasonably, though the corners of his mouth were twitching in amusement which reflected in his dark eyes.

"I... yeah, that is good idea," he stammered, suddenly jealous at how comfortable Edward had seemed with them, and the whole putting-everything-together business in general.

And when he was nervous, his grammar deteriorated, and his German accent was heavier than ever. How wonderful. Better just get to work, and try to forget the various embarrassments.

Soon enough he was immersed in the molt, and found himself absently calling out orders for the men to do little things, like fetch-and-carry, which later morphed into serious discussions about stabilizing the various components into some sort of tube that could be moved easily without fear of dislodging anything. The whole apparatus had to be hooked up to a pulse regulator, which would send a burst of electricity through every few seconds, to keep the molt beam running.

Moreover, they would need to set up some sort of scaffolding and catwalks, Alfons mused, in order to get the molts into useful positions, and have some sort of masterboard for controlling them. In short, they needed to hire some electrical engineers, because he certainly wasn't terribly good at that, and Edward was even worse when it came to electricity.

In fact, with how quickly things went now that he could dump some of the technical stuff on other people, he could probably speed up the schedule quite a bit, so he'd better go talk to Edward about it right now.

Alfons left the two men alone, and set out towards Edward's section of the warehouse – lab – which was still fairly empty, unlike Alfons' own cluttered one.

"Edward?" he called, but got no answer. The man was probably so immersed in the array he wasn't aware of what was going on, Alfons thought wryly.

But when he reached the large table, he saw that Edward was slumped over it face-down, and he picked up his pace in worry.

His lover was just sleeping, but Alfons felt a twinge when he ran a hand over Edward's back and got no response. Edward looked exhausted, and Alfons noticed again the slight bags under his eyes, which hinted at more than one night of lacking sleep.

"Edward, wake up," he murmured. "You don't want to sleep here, come on."

What he really wanted to do was kiss him, but he couldn't afford to, not with other people around.

Edward mumbled something incoherent and stirred, eyes cracking open tiredly.

"Wha...?" he mumbled.

"You fell asleep," Alfons explained, clasping his hands tightly to keep from being tempted to touch.

"Shit." Edward scrubbed at his face, making a visible effort to wake up. "Shit, what time is it?"

"Six something," Alfons replied. "Listen, I wanted to talk to you about a switchboard of some sort-"

"Can we talk about it later?" Edward asked, cutting him off. "I'm fucking late, the professor is going to think I'm such a flake."

"Huh?"

"I'm due to meet Professor Alder tonight, we're going to talk math," Edward explained while getting up and arranging his clothes. "Damn, I can't believe I'm going to be late."

Alfons felt a stab of pain that Edward hadn't bothered to mention this to him earlier.

"But... don't you think that's a bad idea? Look how exhausted you are, you just fell asleep on the table!" he protested, honestly worried. He also couldn't suppress the part of him that worried at this sudden re-ignited interest of Edward's in Professor Alder. It couldn't possibly be healthy for him.

Edward didn't seem to particularly appreciate his concern, though, and shot him a dark look.

"I'll be fine," he snapped. "I know how to organize my time."

Alfons wasn't quite sure why he was so reluctant about this, but he tried again. "What about dinner?" They used to eat Sunday night dinner together, sometimes experimenting with new recipes in their constant attempts to find easy-to-make, indestructible, edible food. True, they hadn't done it as much recently, so he wasn't sure why he had thought of it suddenly, but he had.

"What, suddenly you can't reheat leftovers or something?" Edward wondered, pulling on his coat. "See you later, Alfons."

Muttering a slightly disappointed "bye," Alfons watched Edward go, and quashed his worries. He shouldn't try and take over Edward's life.

With a sigh, he went back to the molts, but even they failed to cheer him up. It had been a while since he and Edward had talked theory together, hadn't it?

He shook his head slightly, and forced the regret down. Tonight, he thought. Tonight when Edward got back, they would curl up in bed together, and Edward would tell him about alchemy, and maybe a story. That would be good.

* * *

Just dinner with a professor shouldn't take so long, Alfons thought when eleven o'clock rolled by. Sitting in the living room, the world dark and cold outside, with the smell of possible snow on the wind should have been peaceful, but it was too quiet. The house felt empty, and Alfons suddenly thought of all the weeks when he was out and Edward waited up for him.

It was rather lonely, and he realized that he felt oddly unhappy having – even indirectly – caused Edward more loneliness. The man was so horribly alone in this world; he really should make some sort of effort to make sure Edward wasn't left alone to brood so often.

Unbidden, memories of his own lost family rose in his mind, though he tried to suppress them. He might never see his parents' graves again, he thought with an ache.

Not only might he never be remembered, but with him gone, the memory of his parents would vanish as well. For that matter, his parents probably wouldn't be at all supportive of his chosen path; sharing a house and bed with Edward, and planning to give up this world entirely on the word of a man who would probably be considered half-mad by most people.

No, he thought, trying to get rid of the guilt, what they might hypothetically think didn't matter. Ultimately, he was the one who had to live his life, and nobody else.

And in terms of family, there were still his cousins to continue the family name. He kept up a sketchy correspondence with them, never quite sure how affectionate to be, because he knew that he would have to cut all ties.

It was easier that he had never visited his parents' graves one last time. He might never have gotten up the courage to leave, if he had.

Alfons buried his face in his hands, and tried to think of something, anything else.

God, he wished Edward would return and distract him. Actually, he thought with slight embarrassment, what he would like right now was probably a hug, or at least some form of human contact.

The house was so quiet.

It had also grown chilly in the living room, so Alfons went to get a blanket to wrap around himself as he waited, lacking motivation to do anything constructive.

He must have dozed off at some point, because he found himself jerking awake when the front door was pushed shut. A glimpse at the clock showed him that it was a bit after midnight, and he tried to disentangle himself from the blanket to get up and greet Edward.

"Alfons?" Edward paused in the foyer, looking rather surprised to see him. Beneath the surprise Alfons could see strain in the tense line of his shoulders, and exhaustion.

"What are you doing up?"

Finally managing to kick the blanket off him and into a pile on the floor, Alfons gave Edward a hopeful, slightly sheepish smile. "I was waiting for you."

"You shouldn't have," Edward said gruffly, hanging up his coat, not meeting Alfons' eyes.

The German frowned, because Edward didn't seem too pleased to see him up, and the thought hurt. "You always stay up for me," he said defensively.

"It's not a competition!" Edward retorted, grabbing his elbow and drawing him towards the stairs. "I stay up because I want to, that doesn't mean you have to, too."

"But I also wanted to wait up for you, why else do you think I did it?" He didn't get it. It always gave him a warm, fluttery sort of feeling in his stomach when he found Edward waiting up for him, because even though he didn't like it when Edward lost sleep for no reason, he liked it when they got into bed together. Didn't Edward feel the same way?

Edward paused on the stairway, shooting him a strange look which morphed into a muted smile. "Idiot," he said, but now there was a definite note of fondness in his voice. "Come on, we should get into bed already."

In short, Edward _was_ pleased, and Alfons returned the smile.

They didn't talk much as they changed into pajamas, Alfons sitting on the bed in the dark, angled so he could watch Edward undress and dump his clothes on a chair in the corner. He honestly couldn't imagine ever tiring of watching Edward move; he was so graceful, even with the clumsiness of the prosthetics.

He let Edward climb into the bed first, then slid under the blankets, instinctively snuggling closer to his lover, a large warm presence in the still-cold bed.

"Did you have fun?" he asked softly.

Edward thought about it, then finally nodded. "Yeah. I like infi. When I do it in my head... it feels like my brain is really _working_, you know? It was like that when I did alchemy..." his voice trailed off, then he rallied. "It was good to talk to somebody who really understands that math. And even though he knows loads more than I do about it, he still listens like I'm saying meaningful things."

Unbidden, a smile flashed across Alfons' face. He knew the feeling, almost as if the brain was a bit overheated – tired in a pleasant way, like muscles after a workout.

"I'm glad you went, then," he said honestly. A happy Edward was fun; maybe his misgivings about what this professor meant to his lover were unfounded.

Edward snorted a bit and then they were both quiet for a few minutes. Alfons rolled onto his back, but stayed close enough to Edward that their shoulders touched.

Taking a breath, he decided to go ahead and ask, despite the late hour. He was tired of putting it off, and right now Edward seemed uncharacteristically mellow.

"Tell me about the array, Edward. You never told me how it's going to work."

Rolling his head to the side, Edward regarded him in slight surprise, and groaned when Alfons' kept a determinedly interested expression on his face.

"It's late," his lover whined, and Alfons' heart sank a bit, because he couldn't fight that argument. But he desperately wanted to understand what it was they would be doing, and he was afraid that if he left it alone things would continue the way they had been until now, so busy they hardly had any chances to talk to each other.

When he didn't answer, Edward sighed defeat. "Can I skip the technical stuff, then?" he asked. "You don't know that much alchemy yet. If you don't care about the symbolism and shit, I'll give you the basic idea."

Actually, Alfons did rather care about the symbolism, but he was willing to quash his curiosity about the details for now. Considering that this was incredibly complicated alchemy and he'd never seen any in action anyway, Alfons doubted his meagre knowledge would suffice to really understand it anyway, though he would probably bug Edward about it later. Besides, it really was rather late right now.

"Sure," he agreed.

"Fine." Edward paused, thinking a bit, then spoke. "Basically, what we're working with is a double-stage array; essentially, two arrays that are part of the same process, combined into one. It's a fairly clumsy fusion here, 'cause I don't have the time, energy, or the ability to experiment in order to streamline it, but I'll be able to control it.

"Anyway, the idea is that the first stage is a space-transcendental array, using elements of the second array in order to find a power source strong enough to fuel the second stage."

"What kind of power source?" Alfons wondered.

"I'll probably use a supernova, if I can't find a gamma explosion," Edward answered matter-of-factly, and Alfons was left speechless.

When he found his voice again, he managed to stammer, "I really think I'm missing something here. How can you possibly _find_ a supernova...?" According to what Edward had explained to him, alchemy utilized natural energy, but he was still hazy on the actual process used to reach it. And tapping something like a nova just seemed utterly crazy to him.

"Ah!" Edward exclaimed, pushing up on one elbow in excitement, his eyes alight. "That's the brilliant part. Normally alchemy utilizes a shrinking perspective, all the way down to an atomic level. The strength of the alchemist defines the range of effect, but basically the focus is down and in. I'm reversing that – that's why I'm loading the array up with Ergons, for example – which takes the focus up and out, and the Phoenix to reach for the galaxy core – you know, the source of a universe, ultimately to destroy it – never mind, the point is that hopefully I should be able to tap a nova."

"I... see," Alfons managed, his head spinning, trying to make sense of the symbols. The Ergon was the eye of the soul, looking into the eternal – which made sense, if you wanted to reach for another universe. And in terms of the Phoenix – birth, death, and rebirth – it made sense too, especially for trying to reach a star. Alfons suppressed the urge to query Edward further on the topic, and allowed himself to be distracted by the "channeling a supernova" part. He was no astrophysicist, but just the thought of somebody attempting to harness that sort of energy was boggling. "And this is for...?"

"That's the energy I'm going to use to open up the portal," Edward explained. "Chances are that the molts and my own energy will barely provide enough in order to link to a nova, these arrays eat energy like you wouldn't believe. The explosion is going to give me the energy I need in order to activate the second stage, reaching into the fourth dimension."

"The molts?" Alfons asked, startled. "I thought they were just the framework."

"No," Edward said, almost impatiently. "They're also going to be the initial power source. It's perfect." He grinned. "Because they're part of the array, transforming the electrical energy into alchemical energy should be easy. And since they're actually made of light and heat, you could say that they combine both Light _and_ Fire for the array, and the array will be a ball of light – the Sun – which means that the array itself is already reflective of the universe."

Catching himself on a tangent, Edward shook his head, took a deep breath, and got back on track. "Anyway, though. Then I activate the second stage, and we should get a portal long enough to jump through."

The way Edward explained it made the whole thing sound incredibly reasonable, not to mention much simpler than it probably would actually be.

"This sounds a bit dangerous," Alfons hedged. "And... wait, how do you know that these arrays drain energy, anyway? You said it was impossible to experiment with!"

"Uh," Edward looked away, biting his lip. "It's not really experimenting, per se... more of just trying to get the feel of –"

Alfons sat straight up, staring at Edward. "You mean you managed to get alchemy to work, and you _didn't show me_?" He didn't think he had ever been more disappointed in his life, or felt more left out.

Edward sat up as well, looking away guiltily, his fingers playing with the blankets nervously. "I didn't manage to do alchemy," he mumbled. "I didn't want to say anything because it's so lame, I barely got a spark. I was _going_ to show you, when I could actually _do_ something with it. What's the point in just showing off incompetence?"

God, Edward was such a blockhead. "Did you even consider that getting _any_ alchemy to work in a world where _it doesn't exist at all_ is a major breakthrough?" Alfons demanded. Apparently Edward was forgetting that Alfons had absolutely no basis for comparison, and would be completely impressed by _anything_ he managed to do.

"Show me!" he ordered, when Edward didn't respond.

Looking unhappy, Edward ran his fingers through his hair. "It's not really reliable," he muttered. "I don't want you to think I'm so pathetic."

"Goddamn it, Edward," Alfons grabbed his shoulder, turning Edward to face him, "I want to see it, stop apologizing already! I don't expect you to transmute the _Bavaria_, just please, show me _something_!" He couldn't help the pleading note in his voice.

For so long he had followed Edward because he believed in him; how could Edward deny him the proof that he had been right to choose this path?

"Geez, fine," Edward scrambled over him and headed towards the closet. "Just don't blame me if it's not impressive."

Edward knelt and rummaged through the bottom of the closet for a minute, then pulled out a dull sphere about the size of a grapefruit. Alfons lit the small lamp next to their bed, so he could see better. In the light, two dark-rust handprints were visible on both sides of the sphere, which was made of metal.

"I got this welded a few days ago," Edward said, shifting it from hand to hand. "Here, hold on to it a second while I go get a knife." He tossed the sphere at Alfons who caught it reflexively, and held it gingerly, afraid to jiggle it lest he ruin something. He wondered what the knife was for.

Upon returning, Edward sat down on the bed next to him, pushed up the shirt sleeve on his flesh arm, and Alfons didn't believe he was actually going to go through with it it until he hissed a bit as he poked the knife into the muscle.

"Edward!" He nearly dropped the sphere.

"Hang on." Edward put down the knife and pressed his prosthetic hand to the blood welling up, and now Alfons understood what the handprints on the sphere were. Edward's blood.

After carefully rubbing it across both palms, Edward held out his hands for the sphere, which Alfons handed over, trying not to think of the blood.

"Why-" he began, but Edward cut him off with a hushing sound.

"Let me concentrate." Closing his eyes, Edward pressed his hands flat against the sphere, fingers splayed, and Alfons refrained from mentioning that Edward's forearm was still bleeding. Edward's breathing slowed and regulated, his brows furrowing in concentration, and Alfons just watched quietly, waiting for something to happen.

Suddenly he noticed that there were tiny blue sparks running over the surface of the sphere, seeming to originate from Edward's fingertips, and then from the metal itself. He found himself holding his breath, staring in fascination. The metal actually seemed to be almost glowing faintly from within, and he had just leaned forward to maybe get a closer look when Edward let out an explosive breath and the sparks vanished.

Alfons yelped in surprise when the sphere fell out of Edward's now-lax hands to hit the floor with a loud clang, and was only just fast enough to grab Edward, who nearly toppled off the bed as well.

"Are you okay?" he asked worriedly, pulling Edward further onto the bed so he could lay him down. It was a bit difficult to do because Edward seemed to have absolutely no energy and was basically dead weight, but he finally managed to arrange him against the pillow.

"Mmm," Edward grunted. "Like I said, lots of energy."

It looked like Edward could barely keep his eyes open anymore, and Alfons pulled the blankets back up over the two of them, and rested his hand on Edward's stomach, feeling him breathe.

"Tol' you it's lame," Edward mumbled, looking rather depressed, and Alfons realized that he hadn't said anything about the alchemy yet, and wanted to kick himself.

"I think it's amazing," he whispered, remembering the electric blue motes originating from nowhere, playing across the metal. "It's amazing that you can do that."

"Really?" His lover's tone was uncertain.

"Yeah," he answered fervently.

Edward's eyes opened a little to glance at him, and Alfons reached over to turn off the lamp, pretending he didn't see Edward's blush, or the pleased smile on his face. Mind still buzzing with excitement over what he had just witnessed, it took Alfons a while to fall asleep.

* * *

Alfons woke up the next morning to find blood on the sheets. His instinctive response was panic, because blood outside the body was _never_ good, and he remembered too many days of coughing until his mouth was full of it-

His breath came short, and the next thing he knew he was hyperventilating, only his lungs couldn't keep up with that, and he felt like he was going to faint from lack of oxygen.

His choked wheezing must have woken Edward up, though he didn't really have enough attention to spare Edward's worried questions when he had a hand clamped over his mouth and was trying not to cough up his lungs.

He hardly noticed when Edward slipped away, and the cough was starting to abate when Edward returned, holding a mug of something hot.

Now that he could breathe a bit, Alfons was quite grateful for the honeyed tea and gulped it, noticing absently that it was the perfect temperature; hot enough to soothe, yet cool enough to swallow without burning his tongue or throat.

"You okay?" Edward inquired, rubbing his back.

Nodding, Alfons shivered a bit.

Edward sighed and shook his head, but looked reassured, and just watched Alfons recover for a few minutes. He glanced at his hand, and laughed a bit. "Sheesh, way to go. I never bandaged my hand last night, and now the sheets are a mess."

Alfons froze, looking over to where Edward was contemplating his arm; the puncture had scabbed over a bit, but it was hard to see because of the trails of dried blood. With a groan he buried his face in his hands, feeling like an utter moron. It was the stupid blood from last night, and here he'd gotten all panicky...

"What's wrong?" Edward asked, worried again.

"This," Alfons gestured weakly. "I woke up, and it... startled me."

Edward took several deliberate, regulated breaths.

"Shut up," Alfons snapped.

"I wasn't laughing!" Edward said defensively.

Standing up, Alfons surveyed the bed, with it's dark brownish stains here and there, and an almost-smirking Edward sitting on the edge of it. "This never happened," he announced, and headed for the bathroom.

Edward followed him a moment later, and they elbowed each other back and forth a bit in attempts to claim the sink and mirror.

Over a quick breakfast, Alfons remembered something that had bugged him the previous night. "Is the blood really necessary?" Truthfully, it seemed a bit melodramatic to him.

"It's the only interface I've found so far that allows me to do any alchemy at all. It does make sense symbolically, when you think about it," Edward explained with a shrug.

Alfons did think about it, and decided that for one, it hearkened back to their original assumption that the Gate was opened because of the soul. Since blood was the vehicle for life, that probably made it a necessary component in the array. Moreover, it represented Edward's vitality, a raw channel into his life-energy which was supposed to prime the array.

"Okay, but how are you going to get it into the molt array? You can't hold it, like you did with the sphere last night."

Edward crammed the end of the toast in his mouth, then answered. "I was thinking of using steam. We'll need it in order to make the lines visible anyway, so if I mix it with some blood that should do the trick."

Alfons made a face. "That is really gross."

Edward rolled his eyes. "It's not that bad."

"You're going to be standing there _breathing_ _bloody mist_. It's horrible."

Shifting uncomfortably, Edward repeated, "It's really not that bad."

"It sounds like something out of a horror novel."

"Quit it."

Grinning, Alfons dumped his dishes in the sink, and followed Edward out the door.

* * *

_Notes: I want to thank you all for your amazing, thoughtful comments after the last chapter. I also want to address what Kina-chan said, about the length of this fic (though she also said she wasn't complaining...) for anybody who's curious, I'm aware that this part is taking up a lot of time, but I feel that pretty much everything here is very necessary for later. Also, I do have a chapter plan, and you should already be seeing signs that things are Moving. So please don't worry about this becoming the Fic That Never Ends.  
I hope you enjoyed, and I apologize for the slow updates. (it's these stupid fights of theirs, a total pain in the butt...XD)_


	24. A Working Relationship

_I'm sorry I'm so late with this update... not yet a month, though, so at least that. Thanks to you all for passing 200 comments! You guys are so awesome, you make me look forward to posting new chapters, and I feel guilty when I take too long over them. Next chapter should be a bit quicker, though, because I have part of it already written out. I hope you enjoy. _

* * *

It was a sad thing to reach the situation when it was a relief when the weekend was finally over, and they could return to their usual routine. The questions of who to spend time with and when could be pushed aside, because they all had places they needed to be, anyway.

Monday was awkward, but soon enough Alfons came to the conclusion that the discomfort of the weekend could be ignored. Edward didn't bring it up anymore, so Alfons didn't, either, and did his best to put the whole incident behind them, until by Tuesday he was going to class and worrying about his schoolwork, as usual.

Alfons stuffed his homework into his bag after barely glancing at it, and decided that there was absolutely no reason to share the fact that he had done so badly with Edward.

After all, it wasn't that he didn't know the material, it was just that with everything going on lately he hadn't really had the time, or energy, to put in the proper amount of effort. Most students probably spent Saturdays and Sundays catching up, but he couldn't, because those were the only two days they could spend long hours at the lab without skipping class.

Besides, Edward probably wouldn't care anyway, he told himself. Edward was forever going on about how this world didn't really matter, and since they were leaving, there wasn't any reason to invest energy in almost anything but the details pertaining directly to the molts and the array.

He slung his bag over his shoulder, waved to some of the other students, and headed towards his next class, still brooding.

It didn't seem like Edward was finding juggling all the material so difficult, he thought, and tried to suppress the undercurrent of jealousy. He was smart, he _knew_ he was smart, but was Edward really so much smarter than him?

Whining about the situation being difficult would just be embarrassing, and Edward would probably take it as some sort of veiled attack, and use it as a reason to do even more of Alfons' homework for him, or take more of the chores upon himself.

It wasn't about Edward, it was about him, and he wished he could just complain about it without Edward thinking that he had to _do_ something about it for Alfons.

Then again, he thought, sinking into his chair in the lecture hall, it was sweet of Edward to worry about him.

Well, he would just have to work harder. The thought was rather glum, but he didn't see any alternative. He just wished he didn't feel so darn _stupid_.

* * *

His one comfort was that when it came to the molts, he knew what he was doing. They didn't surprise him, and when they did, he managed to solve their problems, and even improve them. He also found himself getting used to the convenience of having other people around to do the grunt work, and grew more comfortable calling in Englemann and Zeller to help him out whenever he went by the lab to get in a few hours of work.

He wasn't sure how much they were getting paid, but it must be pretty nice, because they never complained about anything that he requested of them, even when he once rather abashedly asked Englemann to make him a sandwich. The man even washed the dishes afterwards without being asked.

He took to returning late in the evenings, spending hours after class in the library and doing his homework there, so he wouldn't have to watch silently as Edward finished so much faster than him, or suffer the shame of an offer of help.

After several days of this, Edward finally inquired hesitantly over dinner if anything was wrong.

Alfons looked up from his mashed potatoes and fried chicken. "What do you mean 'wrong?'"

"You've started coming home awfully late." Edward absently pushed his food around the plate with his fork. "I just wanted to make sure that everything's okay."

"Oh, that." Alfons shrugged, and kept eating. Edward was pretty good at making fried chicken, not that it was a complicated dish or anything. "I just find it a bit easier to concentrate there, lately."

There was silence between them for a few minutes, and Alfons caught Edward looking around, a perturbed expression on his face.

"Does something here bother you?" Edward finally inquired carefully. "Because this house is both of ours. You should-"

"No, no!" Alfons smiled, waving his hand in dismissal. "Nothing like that! I just get distracted here, sometimes, you know? There's no need to change anything around the house. I don't mind staying in the library another hour to finish my homework."

True, it meant that he could no longer return home with Edward, but he really needed to get this work done. It wasn't the _house_ that was the problem, but there was no way to explain to Edward his embarrassment at being seen struggling, so better to just head off the whole issue.

"Well, if you're sure," Edward said, somewhat reluctantly.

"Yeah, no problem." Alfons changed the subject, and kept up a cheerful expression until they had finished dinner and both gone to their respective evening occupations.

He was reviewing his homework surreptitiously, rather abashed at the idiotic mistakes he had made, when Edward walked up behind him.

"Ah!" Alfons jumped, practically scrambling to cover the papers with their tell-tale red markings. "Don't sneak up behind me!"

"Sorry!" Edward took a startled step back, raising his hands defensively. "I just wanted to ask if you wanted to come to bed, it's getting pretty late."

"I really have to finish this up," Alfons said regretfully. "You can go on ahead, don't wait up for me."

"But Alfons," now Edward's tone turned soft, and a bit husky, "we don't have to go right to sleep." From the way Edward's human hand was trailing across the back of Alfons' neck, raising goosebumps, it was quite clear what he wanted. Alfons let out a shaky breath, his eyes falling half-shut, as Edward's hand worked its way up the back of his head. Any second now the gentle caress would turn into a grip on his hair, and he would find his head tugged back firmly, sharp teeth nibbling on his neck –

"Stop," he breathed, albeit reluctantly, but he couldn't afford to be distracted now, no matter how attractive the prospect was. As always, whenever Alfons voiced an unequivocal rejection, Edward backed off immediately. The hand vanished, and Edward took a step away.

"Sorry," Edward managed, sounding a bit shaky. Alfons didn't pay it much mind; Edward always felt bad when Alfons was forced to deny him categorically, as if he had pushed too much.

"It's okay," he reassured. "Just let me finish up here."

"I... can I get you anything?"

There was a tired sort of note in Edward's voice, and even though a cup of coffee might have been nice, Alfons decided not to burden him. Edward was always so good to him; he could be considerate of Edward sometimes, too.

"No, I'm fine. You should get some sleep, though," he said.

"Well, if you're sure..." Edward backed away, allowing Alfons to finally uncover the notes he had kept hidden. "Goodnight, Alfons."

"'Night."

When Alfons finally made it up to bed, he found Edward curled up slightly, his face to the wall, and was a bit surprised because Edward usually preferred to sleep on his back. He was too tired to think on it overmuch, though, and just fell into bed beside him, and was asleep almost at once.

* * *

As Alfons got used to working with other men, Edward hired a few more people, and they were split into groups. It had taken surprisingly little time for him to get used to Zeller and Englemann and them to him, so it only made sense to put them in charge of the newer men added to their teams.

Alfons was glad when Gottlieb was hired, because it meant one more person he could converse in German with. Edward also hired Kurasz, who brought his friend Jandryca (which was promptly shortened to Jandry). It was expected that a good portion of the men were immigrants as well, since they were the people who would be most eager to find a job, and willing to do what they were told without asking too many questions.

Bennet and Jacobs also joined the team, with Jacobs being their resident 3rd generation American, and Bennet's parents having come over from England in the previous century.

Nobody was possibly more surprised than Edward when, upon hiring Aisenyev, he discovered that when spoken to in Russian, he could answer as well. It still caused him some confusion, because it always took Edward a little while afterwards to figure out what language he was speaking when, which amused the men no end.

Once they got fairly comfortable with their bosses, it became an almost running gag to have Aisenyev ask Edward something in Russian, and then take bets over how long it took Edward to notice, and revert back to a language everybody understood.

Of course, Alfons learned all this mostly from Edward himself, because for a while, Edward spent much more time at the labs than he did. Now that they had workers, Edward started getting the last things put in to make their lab into the proper working environment.

As per Alfons' requests, there were now catwalks being built, frameworks filling Edward's half of the lab in preparations for mounting the molts, lenses and mirrors on, electrical wires being taped down.

They were so busy that Alfons barely noticed when Saturday night rolled by again, but was relieved that Edward was at the lab, and so they didn't have to confront what had happened last time.

Surprisingly enough, when he met up with his friends, practically the first thing Zolf did was to enquire after Edward, and looked mildly disappointed when Alfons made excuses for him.

The incident weighed on Alfons' mind all evening, and he wondered if maybe, maybe...

But the chances that Edward would want to come were negligible, and Alfons didn't want to make Edward feel bad, so he decided against bringing up the subject any more.

It was rather a pity, though.

* * *

The molts were finally taking shape, and Alfons had the feeling that within another week Edward would be able to finally start working with them. He made the casings as durable as possible without making them overly heavy, so they would be comfortable to maneuver, and spent an evening with Edward designing an apparatus for angling them properly so as to create the necessary shapes.

The week passed in a whirlwind of work, and on Saturday they both ended up leaving the lab early, pleased with their progress.

The downside of the situation was that now they still had the evening ahead of them, at the end of which Alfons would be leaving and Edward would be staying, and Alfons couldn't come up with a good way to evade Edward – and the inevitable discomfort.

In the end, they spent most of the evening pretending they weren't watching the clock. At least, that's what Alfons was doing. It seemed to him like Edward was doing that, too, given how often he 'casually' looked up and stretched, his head angling in just the right direction to get a glimpse of the clock on the wall in the kitchen. On the other hand, Edward was much more adept than he was at ignoring things, or at least pretending to ignore them.

It was a relief when 9:00 PM finally rolled around, and Alfons pushed his books aside with a sigh. At that Edward looked up, and Alfons couldn't shake the awkwardness that gripped him.

Edward's eyes followed him around the room as he went to find his shoes and coat, until his lover spoke. "I don't want to go with you," Edward said, almost challengingly.

Alfons sighed again, relieved, and sat down to pull his shoes on. "I wasn't going to ask," he answered bluntly. "I figured you wouldn't want to, anyway."

"Oh." Edward's voice sounded oddly strained, but when Alfons looked up at him, Edward had his head down, seemingly absorbed in his notes.

Pulling on his coat, Alfons couldn't keep his eyes away from his lover, wishing that things had worked out differently.

Edward didn't look up when Alfons headed to the door, and finally he paused, looking at his lover again. Edward looked tired, he thought. And now, while he was off having fun, Edward would be waiting up for him, all alone. Probably do his homework for him, too.

If only Edward had gotten along with them... really, all he wanted to do was spend some time with Edward, where they could just _be_ together, not talk shop or homework.

The solution was so obvious he felt like an idiot for not realizing it sooner.

He turned around. "Edward, why don't we go out? Just you and I?"

Edward jerked up straight, and stared at him in astonishment. "Me?" he stammered, and there was such a look of guarded hope on his face that it hurt Alfons to look at it.

"Of course," he said, trying to keep his voice level, and not betray the turmoil inside of him. He was _angry, _because if Edward felt that way, why hadn't he said anything before? Edward just kept on protesting that he was okay, everything was okay... How dare Edward be _surprised_, and God, how had Alfons let that happen?

"Yeah," Edward blurted, jumping up so quickly he nearly knocked over his chair. "Let me just grab my coat!"

His anger evaporated when he wondered, suddenly, when was the last time he had truly shown Edward that he enjoyed spending time with him.

Keeping a smile on his face, masking his guilt, Alfons helped Edward tie his scarf and used that as an excuse to steal a kiss. He even grabbed Edward's hand and squeezed it gently before they went out, which always made Edward mutter about sappiness under his breath, but Alfons had a suspicion that Edward liked it.

"So what do you want to do?" he asked his lover. As Edward didn't particularly enjoy crowds, chances were that he wouldn't want to hang out on Harvard Avenue with the other students. For that matter, if they went to that area there was a high chance they might run into people Alfons knew, which might be awkward.

"Uh, whatever you want," Edward answered nervously, which rather frustrated Alfons. He stopped on the sidewalk, despite the biting cold, and turned to Edward.

"I don't know," he said patiently. "I don't mind so much either way, I'll go wherever you want."

Edward put his hands on his hips. "Well, I don't fucking know where I want to go, _you're_ the party animal! Tell me where you'll have fun, and we can go there."

"I am _not _a 'party animal'," Alfons complained. "Just because I hang out with people sometimes doesn't mean that I go to parties! I haven't gone to any parties. I can barely dance, anyway, and who would I dance with?"

"The fuck?" Edward demanded. "Why the fuck should you be dancing with anybody?" He paused. "Do you _want_ to dance?" he added, chewing on his lip. "Because-"

"I don't want to dance!" Alfons waved his arms. "Why are we talking about this anyway? It's getting cold, and we're just standing around!"

"Because if you want to go to a party-"

"I _don't_ want to go to a stupid party!" Alfons nearly bellowed, then modulated his tone. "I wanted to know where you wanted to go, and then _you_-"

"Well I just want you to have fun!" Edward retorted. "How am I supposed to make you have fun if you won't tell me where you want to go?"

"And I told you I don't care!"

"But I... I don't know..." And Alfons was startled to see the worried, bordering on frantic expression on Edward's face.

Shit, Edward was trying so hard, and he really wasn't making it any easier on him. But Edward shouldn't _have_ to try, didn't he know that it didn't matter where they went, as long as they were together?

Maybe he didn't, Alfons thought sadly. Maybe, with all the time Alfons had spent in others' company, Edward had forgotten.

"It doesn't matter, Edward," he said softly. "If it wasn't so cold, I'd be happy to just go to the Boston Commons and look at the stars with you, okay? So don't worry."

A wry smile twitched at the corners of Edward's mouth, but he looked away huffily. "I wasn't worried," he announced. "I don't know what's with you tonight. I was just establishing your preferences before choosing a course of action, that's all."

Alfons grinned indulgently, and refrained from mentioning that Edward's ears looked a bit red. He shifted from foot to foot in the cold, watched his breath steam in the cold air, and forced himself to wait patiently. Edward was thinking, his brows furrowed in concentration, and Alfons didn't want to press and make him nervous again.

An idea surfacing, Edward suddenly looked up at him. "Come on, let's go to Chinatown!"

"Chinatown?" Alfons wondered, following a suddenly-excited Edward down the street.

"It's that neighborhood where all the Chinese are," Edward said.

"I _know_," Alfons protested. "I just... I don't know..." He just had never thought of going there, that was all. "What will we do there?"

"We can eat out," Edward said enthusiastically. "We've been eating potatoes for ages now. It's high time we had something different. Maybe we can even beg a recipe off of them."

"But the expense..." Alfons protested half-heartedly. The prospect of food cooked by someone else was terribly tempting.

"It's for a good cause." Edward elbowed him in the side and shot him a brilliant smile, which made Alfons heart speed up a bit. _He_ was Edward's good cause in this case, and the knowledge that Edward was willing to spend money on him that he knew would probably be better spent on materials or salaries for the men humbled him.

"Sounds good," he said, trying to sound as enthusiastic about the idea as he could without sounding like he was overcompensating because of guilt. Then he tried to not feel guiltier over how relieved Edward looked that he seemed to approve of the idea.

He was suddenly struck by an almost-overwhelming urge to touch Edward, to wipe away that tired expression, and he had to keep himself from suggesting they give up on this idea, and just go home and spend the night in a different way.

That wouldn't solve the problem, he knew, because the whole point of this was showing that they were still friends.

The silence between them was heavy, and Alfons desperately searched his mind for something to say that didn't involve rockets or molts or math. It couldn't be, he thought desperately, did they really have nothing to talk about anymore?

Walking beside him, Edward suddenly looked sideways and met his eyes, a genuinely happy smile quirking his mouth. An answering smile leapt to Alfons' lips almost involuntarily, and he suddenly realized that the silence wasn't oppressive at all, but soft and comfortable.

A conversation started up almost without them noticing, and the next thing he knew Edward was telling him about the morons who always sat at the back of class and swapped stories full of information Edward _really_ didn't want to know about their love-lives, and why did they always do it while he was trying to listen, dammit?

Alfons responded with anecdotes about the professor who wouldn't know an interesting way of presenting an idea if it came up and slapped him in the face, and then suddenly they were surrounded by red and yellow lights, storefronts decorated with dragons and unfamiliar letters, and people with straight black hair and slanted eyes. It made Alfons feel like an outsider, which he hadn't liked when he first came to America, and didn't like now either.

He'd never seen any Chinese people before, much less had any of their food, and he tried not to gape at how strange and different these streets in the middle of America looked.

A glance sneaked at Edward showed that he seemed unfazed, and was looking around with a bright, interested expression, the lights setting his eyes on fire so that Alfons had to look away from the intensity or risk doing something inappropriate.

Despite the cold, stores were still open, inviting them to inspect all sorts of odd knickknacks, lucky charms, and more.

"Look," Alfons tugged Edward over to look at a 'lucky cat', a small porcelain statue of a cat waving its paw.

He didn't understand why Edward snorted, and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like 'figures' under his breath. "Give me a break, what are we going to do with it?" was Edward's official protest.

"We can put it on the kitchen table and admire it," Alfons said.

"Right, _that's_ a safe place," Edward replied sarcastically. "Want to bet on how long it takes until we knock it off the table and it breaks?"

"So we can put it on the counter," he persisted. "A little luck never hurt anybody." Not that he really believed in all that, but it was sort of cute.

"I thought you were Christian," Edward glanced sideways at him. "Isn't this against your creed or something?"

Of course, Edward could bullshit with the best of them, and was perfectly capable of pulling ridiculous arguments out of nowhere in an attempt to get his way. He could win, too, if Alfons wasn't careful.

"Well, we can also get a cross to hang above the bed, if you're _that_ worried," Alfons answered easily, and laughed when Edward shook his head vehemently.

"Can we just get something less breakable?" Edward asked plaintively. "I just know that it'll break, and then you'll pout."

"I don't pout," Alfons protested automatically, but conceded on the point of breakability. He ended up compromising on a design made of red cord hung with coins and small fish, paid, and tucked it into his pocket.

"What's up with your sudden home-decoration thing?" Edward wondered, as they walked away.

"What's wrong with getting something new every so often?" Alfons tossed back. "Just because you think the house needs no other ornamentation other than, say, lipstick arrays all over the bathroom-"

"Of course, because a little red doohickey will make _all_ the difference."

"Exactly."

Sighing, Edward rolled his eyes skyward.

"We were going to eat," Alfons reminded Edward, eyeing the restaurants along the street. The prospect of getting in out of the cold was also looking decidedly pleasant.

"I'm looking for a good place." Edward paused, looked up and down the street, then came to a decision and dragged him into a tiny restaurant. Alfons didn't know what to pick and so let Edward choose the food, and they talked and laughed over soda until their meal came, a strange amalgamate of noodles, meat, and vegetables.

"Uh, where's the silverware?" Alfons wondered, inspecting the table, but finding only two wooden sticks.

Edward held the sticks up with a shrug. "I think this is it."

"No way..." Alfons managed, but Edward was right, and the smiling proprietor of the joint was showing him how to hold them. To his mortification, and the amusement of the small Chinese man, he was terrible at it. Edward found it hilarious, until he realized that he was actually worse at it than Alfons was.

In the end, one way or another, the food made it to their mouths, and Alfons had the suspicion that the epic battle of the chopsticks would be worth a few laughs later, once the memory stopped being quite so embarrassing.

They finished with tea, which had an odd flavor that he wasn't used to, and then escaped back out into the cold. The streets were emptier, now, and they decided to head home before they got too tired.

It was _good_ to be out together, and by now it was late, and Alfons probably would have been happy to drag Edward into an alleyway and molest him, if not for the bitter cold and the risk of getting caught.

A spot of white fluttered through his vision, and he looked up to see flurries.

"It's snowing," he said softly, watching the dark sky, the clouds reflecting the light from the city in a pinkish glow.

"I know," Edward muttered, pushing his hands deeper into his pockets and shivering. "It's fucking cold. I should've put on something under the stupid jeans."

Poor Edward always suffered when it got cold, and it was probably below zero by now. The streets were practically empty at this point, most people having retreated indoors to the warmth.

"I could wrap your scarf over your ears for you," Alfons offered, falling into step next to Edward, noting how his lover walked hunched over from the cold, trying in vain to get as much of his face behind cloth as possible.

"Right," Edward snorted. "Because I always wanted to look like a moron."

"So you'd rather freeze?" Though he was also a bit worried, amusement won over by far.

"I won't freeze. I'm perfectly fine," Edward managed, his jaw locked to keep his teeth from chattering.

"I wore the shirt on my head," Alfons reminded him.

"When I'm in danger of sunburn, I'll do that, too," Edward huffed, deliberately ignoring the point.

"Fine, then. Be my guest and shiver."

"Fine."

Alfons allowed his head to fall back so he could watch the sky, feeling strangely peaceful. He suddenly noticed that he hadn't regretted skipping out on his friends even once during the evening. A mischievous idea forming in his mind, he glanced around to make sure the streets were empty, then carefully sneaked his hand over to Edward's ponytail. With a swift tug the tie was off, and Edward's hair fell free down his back.

"The fuck?!" Edward's hand moved reflexively to the back of his head, too late to stop Alfons. He turned to glare. "Hey! Give that back!"

With his longer reach Alfons managed to keep the tie away from Edward's grasping hands, unable to help the half-smirk on his face.

"I thought you'd be warmer with your hair down," he said innocently while Edward yanked at his arms, safe in the knowledge that Edward wouldn't throw him here.

Getting a grip on his pride, Edward shrugged and crossed his arms in annoyance, pretending he didn't care. "Whatever."

When the finally reached their house it took them several tries to fumble the key into the lock with cold fingers. They stumbled inside, and the door was barely shut before Alfons was undoing Edward's scarf and coat, and pressing hot kisses to his cold lips and cheeks.

_Mine_, he thought fiercely, feeling Edward flush and grow warm under his touch, his lover now shivering for a completely different reason. He wouldn't let Edward slip through his fingers because of neglect.

Surprisingly enough, Edward was content to let him lead, not even pretending to resist. Leaving their wet coats and shoes hanging off chairs in the living room, they migrated towards one of their rooms, the floor cold against their feet now that they had peeled off their damp socks.

"We should turn on the furnace," Alfons murmured against Edward's ear, and Edward shrugged.

"We've got blankets," was his lover's response, and Alfons refrained from mentioning how much Edward hated when Alfons put his cold feet on him at night.

They fell onto the bed, and Alfons rolled Edward onto his back, thankful that Edward was so pliant tonight; it made for a nice change from Edward's usual pushy self (though, Alfons loved that pushiness just as much). Edward's hair fell over the pillow, dull in the reflected light from the clouds that came in through their window. Alfons leaned in to kiss him insistently, and Edward's human arm came up to dig into his shoulder blades, while he used his prosthetic to fumble open the buttons on Alfons' shirt. The cold had practically vanished from Edward's skin and now he was wonderfully warm, and Alfons never tired of indulging himself in that heat.

He was half on top of Edward, his mouth working along Edward's exposed chest, while his hand roamed lower towards his pants. Edward's breath hitched audibly when Alfons scraped his nails lightly across his lower belly. His fingers reached the waist of Edward's pants, undid the top button, moving onward to-

Huh?

Alfons lifted his head in confusion, trying to understand what his fingers were telling him. Where there should be more buttons, he could feel a serrated row of something metallic that didn't yield to his attempt at getting it open.

"Alfons?" Edward asked, confusion in the slightly breathy question.

"I," Alfons sat up in frustration, his feelings mirrored by Edward's sound of displeasure.

Why couldn't he get the stupid pants open? "There's something wrong with your pants–"

"Geez," Edward pushed up on his elbows, now annoyed. "It's a zipper, Alfons, these jeans are new."

"A what?" Alfons leaned down to inspect Edward's fly, the poor light forcing him to lean in close to see what was going on.

"I can't believe this," Edward muttered, covering his face with his hand. "You're supposed to be a rocket scientist, you can't get a stupid fucking zipper open? There's a thing at the top, you pull it down-"

Now that Alfons could see, there was some sort of odd contraption in Edward's fly where the buttons should go, like a small set of interlocking metal teeth. "Found it," he said, when his fingertips touched something at the top right near the button that had a tiny handle. Experimentally he pulled at it, and watched in bemusement as the metal teeth parted smoothly.

_Amazing_, he thought, only registering Edward's whine in the periphery of his thoughts. These were like easy-access pants! Why, he could get them open even faster than Edward could undo Alfons' pants, and Edward was pretty darn good at it, clumsy prosthetic notwithstanding.

Fascinated, he tugged the handle of the – zipper, Edward had called it? back up, watching as the metal teeth locked once again.

This was possibly one of the most brilliant inventions he had ever seen since the lightbulb. He tugged the zipper down again, trying to figure out how it worked. The teeth seemed to have hooks and dimples that fit into each other, and the slider must tilt both sides outward enough so that they fit together properly.

He would have to ask Edward where he had gotten these pants. Heck, he wouldn't mind wearing jeans too, if it meant this sort of comfort!

"This is wonderful!" he enthused, pulling the zipper open and shut a few more times.

"Yes," Edward said in a strangled voice. "I'm enjoying myself _so much_ right now."

Alfons looked up in surprise to find Edward propped up on his elbows, hands fisted in the sheets, face flushed and glaring.

Oops.

They had been on their way to doing something else, hadn't they?

"I, uh," he stammered, mortified.

"I can just take off the pants and leave you with them, if you want to keep playing," Edward said flatly. "I'll just go off to the bathroom and-"

"I just-" his face felt like it was on fire, and he wanted to curl up in a tiny hole somewhere and never come out. "I got distracted..."

"Oh god." Edward covered his face with his hand and started laughing helplessly. "Alfons, you're hopeless, you know that?"

"I'll make it up to you!" he stammered quickly, but Edward barely noticed; he had flopped back onto the bed, and was practically howling with laughter.

"Stop it," he protested, shaking his lover to try and get him to stop. "I'm sorry, come on, quit laughing already." When that didn't work, he tried crawling back on top of Edward and kissing him into silence. Edward was left staring up at him, a wild grin on his face, still laughing a bit, his chest heaving, and finally Alfons grinned back.

"Idiot," Edward said fondly.

"You're being mean," Alfons answered, and just because he could, found Edward's fly and tugged the zipper open and shut a few more times.


	25. Joseph

Wah, I'm so sorry for the lateness. Well, this chapter _is_ longer, so that's good, right? I'll put the notes at the end this time, I've dithered long enough.

* * *

Alfons woke the next morning slightly cramped from the cold. The room was frigid, and during the night he had curled around Edward in a rather awkward position in an attempt to keep warm.

With sudden pain, he remembered how it had been in Munich – huddled under sparse blankets together, trudging through snow to the library, the warmth of beer in his stomach. Disjointed impressions flitted across his mind; the memory of the smell of the city in the morning, the path a descending rocket plowed through snow in the empty fields on the outskirts.

_Home_, he thought, and tried to regulate his breathing, which was becoming rather hitched. America would never be home to him, no matter how good it was to have money and a house of their own. He was happy here, but he didn't love the land, the people, the way he did Germany. Here, he wanted to succeed for himself, and not for the glory of anybody else.

Maybe today he would finish the first molts, so that Edward could start building the array.

The molts that would take him to another world...

Despite how many stories he had heard of the place, he still wasn't sure what it would _really_ be like. What if he never belonged there, either? From what Edward said, Amestris looked more like America than Germany – this was the geographical area, anyway, and they spoke English there.

Would he ever be able to love Amestris? The thought bothered him, because to love Amestris would be to betray Germany all over again; how could he possibly love another country the way he loved his homeland?

And yet... the prospect of living for the rest of his life in a place where he couldn't just stand and _feel_ the land, know that he was part of it, rejoice in his country's success and ache for her pain –

_Shit_. He scrubbed a hand across his eyes, and hoped that Edward wasn't awake yet. This was something he couldn't share with Edward, because Edward wouldn't understand. As far as he knew, his lover felt no connection to any land, anywhere. Though with how much he detested being in this world, Alfons was pretty sure that some part of him must miss his home world itself, in addition to the people he had lost.

Enough with the melancholy. Slight hunger bothered him, but not enough to be worth the effort to get out of bed yet. It was late in the morning, nearly 8:00 o'clock, and Alfons knew that they should probably be getting up and getting to the labs. He rolled over to face Edward, who was still fast asleep, and ran his fingers through his hair, petting softly.

Edward should have woken up by now, he thought. Come to think of it, Edward had also shown a lot less stamina than usual, and had fallen asleep almost immediately after they had finished, an odd occurrence in and of itself.

Coming to a decision, he rolled out of bed carefully so as to keep the warm air inside the covers, and cursed under his breath when his bare feet touched the frigid floor. They _seriously_ needed to get some carpets.

Plans to head off for now and allow Edward to sleep in were temporarily suspended when Alfons found something preventing him from getting up off the bed. It took his groggy mind a few minutes to understand why, but then he saw that Edward's arm was wrapped around his waist, arresting his movement.

"I'll be cold," Edward whined from behind him. "Where are you going?"

Turning his torso around slightly, Alfons smiled at Edward in amusement. "I was going to get to the labs," he said. "I was going to surprise you and have two molts finished by the time you dragged your lazy behind out of bed, but I guess you ruined that."

Suddenly awake, Edward sat bolt upright. "Two molts? You're seriously going to give me two molts today?"

"Yeah," Alfons said in satisfaction, and felt warm at the sheer joy on Edward's face. Even more, when he saw the look of pride Edward directed at him, he thought his heart would pound right out of his chest. Edward was brilliant and beautiful and proud of _him_.

"So," Edward began, stopped, then started again. "So I'll come later today, I can work on the array at home for now."

Amused, Alfons replied, "But you know they're going to be finished. It's not a surprise anymore."

"So what?" Edward demanded. "It doesn't matter if I know they'll be ready. I want to see them when they're done. When should I come?"

"Hmm," Alfons mused. "Come around noon. Things will definitely be ready for you to start working by then."

Alfons spent the rest of the time until leaving quietly amused at Edward's obvious excitement. It almost looked like Edward couldn't sit still because of nerves, constantly jumping up to do trivial things, and then rushing to sit back down.

He seriously hoped the molts would be everything Edward had hoped for, because he didn't think he could stand the crushing disappointment Edward would suffer if they weren't.

When he left, Edward called a faux-nonchalant 'goodbye' after him, and Alfons smiled again, his mind already full of what exactly needed to be done before Edward got there.

* * *

"Good morning," Alfons called out cheerily to Dawes, their night watchman, and received a cheerful answer. Dawes seemed to be honestly fond of both him and Edward and took his job as guardian seriously, though he had no clue what the two were actually trying to achieve with their strange experiments.

Soon one of his sons should be arriving to spell him for the daytime shift.

Alfons hurried inside, and once again felt the happy feeling of possession steal over him. Everything here was partly _his_. From the actual warehouse itself which they owned down to the ground it rested on, to the large generators along the walls, to the steel walkways circling the work area and the boxes of prisms and lenses, and even the mess left over from yesterday.

The two mostly-completed molts lay on one of his work tables, wedged in on either side to prevent their rolling off and getting damaged. Basically, all that was left to be done was run a last function check, finish welding them shut, and mount it in place.

Checking his watch compulsively, Alfons wondered where the men were. They should be arriving any -

Ah, there they were. Quickly he gave out directions, and much sooner than he had expected he was looking at two completed molts. Encased in dull metal, they were roughly cylindrical, about as long as his arm and thrice as thick. They should have names, Alfons thought giddily to himself, because calling them just 'A' and 'B' seemed far too detached for machines that carried all of their hopes and dreams.

"Right," he said, and hoped he didn't sound choked. "Let's get them up and running." He gestured towards the men, a pair coming up to take each cylinder carefully to wherever Alfons wanted it.

"Gentle with them," he called nervously as they carried the two molts up onto the catwalks, wires trailing behind them. "They are costing more than you can believe!"

Each one was hooked into a separate generator; a necessity, if they were to be the power source Edward needed them to be. While the molts were being carried up to the catwalks, several of the other men were laying down wires, taping them to the floor and supports of the scaffolding, occasionally using bent nails to keep them in place.

Once the molts were safely mounted, Alfons followed to finalize the electrical connections. He didn't trust the men with them, because despite the fact that he wasn't terribly gifted

when it came to messing with electricity, at least he knew what he was doing. Then Jandry pulled the other ends of the wires over to the switchboard, and Alfons climbed back down to connect each one to its switch.

"Done," Alfons breathed, running his eyes across the various connections to make sure that everything seemed in order. "Zeller, you can make the generators running? Edward showed you how, yes?"

"Sure," Zeller answered, and promptly organized his men to activate them. A rumbling hum filled the room, and Alfons held his breath. Both molts were pointing safely at the floor, so there was no risk to anybody's eyes. His hand hovered over the switches for a few seconds, and finally he flicked them on.

Two dots of steady red light appeared on the floor in the middle of the room.

"Great!" he heard his voice call out, as if from far away. There were some ragged cheers from the men. It didn't matter that they didn't understand why Alfons was so excited about two small dots of light; they would jump on any excuse to celebrate. And since Alfons was the 'scientific-type' and not they, they'd take his word for what was worth celebrating and what wasn't.

Almost immediately he thought of a problem; since both molts were red, it would probably be rather confusing to work with after a while. He made a mental note to figure out how to make them different colors.

Alfons turned the lamps off, and motioned to the men to gather around. "From now on, some of you are going to be working with positioning the lamps, so you need to know how to use these." He led them over to a small box containing small metal devices made of two crisscrossing hoops with degrees carefully marked on them, which would be used to orient the molts. Larger versions of the handheld ones were already connected to the molts' brackets. The men eyed them curiously, but seemed willing enough to humor him. After all, that was what they were paid for.

"When using it, the central staff must always be _exactly_ perpendicular to the ground," he explained. "This hoop," he pointed at the horizontal one, "shows how many degrees to each side. The needle points to zero in the neutral stage, and to either side you have positive and negative numbers. Positive is always to the right, negative is always to the left. Understood?" There were dubious nods around the circle, and Alfons hoped it was clear enough. Either way, they would be practicing before he let any of the men _near_ one of their precious prisms.

"The vertical hoop indicates up or down," Alfons continued. "In neutral position, the needle points at zero, which is the horizon. Up is plus, and down is minus."

He waited to see if everybody understood, and then spent the next half-hour practicing with them, calling out coordinates and checking to make sure everyone got them correctly.

Every few minutes he flicked his eyes over to the large clock hanging on the western wall of the warehouse. It was past twelve, where was Edward? He had hurried because he had been sure that Edward would show up early because of excitement, but maybe Edward was procrastinating on purpose, to make sure that Alfons would be completely done by the time he arrived.

Either way he was getting hungry, so he called a stop for an early lunch, and sat down with a sandwich and some diagrams.

Bennett seemed to be the steadiest with his hands; he would assign him to molt A for now, and keep the others on standby, Alfons mused, since he doubted Edward would be up to working with two simultaneously... yet.

"Right," Alfons announced, when he decided they had eaten long enough. "Bennett, you will be in charge of lamp A for now," Alfons pointed towards one of them.

"Alice," Bennett said firmly, naming it after his sweetheart. The other men hooted, but Alfons hushed them.

"Alice," he agreed with a grin. "Those of you with Englemann can come here with me; we are going to be playing with mirrors. Gottlieb, you be at the switches. Everybody else can do whatever.

"First, but, safety rules. I have said this a million times, I know, but let me tell you watch out from the wires. We do not want any bad accidents. Also, there will be absolutely _no_ pointing the light at people, especially not faces. Those little dots there can blind you just like to look at the sun." He wasn't quite sure they believed him, so Alfons made sure to catch each man's eyes. "No stupidness, you hear?"

Satisfied with the nods, Alfons grinned again, excitement already taking over. "Right. Then we will get to work."

He wished Edward would show up already, but he also didn't want to put off experimenting with the molts. Really, Edward should be arriving any time now...

In the meantime, they bounced the light back and forth between mirrors, bent it with variously shaped prisms, and even split the beams several times. It was amazing how far the light could go, and how many times it could be looped around. His enthusiasm was infectious, and soon the other men were caught up in the 'game' of seeing what permutations could be achieved, and playing 'find the red dot on the ceiling'.

It was sometime around 1:30 when Edward walked in. Despite the hum of the generators and the general level of noise, Alfons heard Edward the second the outer door slammed shut, and even the slight scuff of his prosthetic footstep. He turned instinctively, already knowing that the molts were everything they could have hoped for and more, but needing to see Edward's face.

The men fell silent, waiting, and Aisenyev took the opportunity to jiggle his mirror, making the molt beam run back and forth across the floor right in front of Edward.

Edward watched it for a few seconds, then shot Alfons a brilliant look.

"Amazing," he said, and Alfons prayed that nobody else notice the intensity behind his eyes.

"You're amazing."

A warm feeling spread through Alfons, not dissipating even after their moment was gone, and Edward was back to being businesslike.

"We should be getting another generator next week," he told Alfons, eyes still roving over the molts. "Think you can get another one done by then?"

Alfons hesitated. "Depends if you want me to make it a different color or not, because that might take more time."

"Hm."

Alfons loved the fact that he didn't have to explain the advantages of multicolored molts; Edward followed his thought process effortlessly. "But don't take Zeller's team to work on the prisms, and I'll see what I can do." With a team to help him out, his chances of developing colored molts fast were marginally higher. He paused, then- "I gave everybody a run-down on the angles."

"Well, get me some colored ones as fast as you can, then," Edward decided, then motioned to two of the men to accompany him over to his drafting table. Several minutes later the table was stationed in the middle of the floor, in a spot that gave him an excellent view of the work area where the array would be constructed.

In a few minutes he would get back to his molt-building, but for now Alfons was content just to watch Edward work.

"Right," Edward announced, shuffling his papers and rearranging them into some obscure pattern, "I want the molt at-"

"Alice," Alfons called, and Edward stared at him.

"What?"

"That molt," Alfons pointed, "is named Alice."

"The fuck?" Edward stared incredulously. "You couldn't think of a better name? _Alice_?"

Annoyed, Alfons crossed his arms. "I think Alice is a perfectly acceptable name. Why, you think you have a better idea?"

Edward looked disgruntled. "As a matter of fact, yes."

"Well?"

"Spike."

There were a few moments of silence, where Alfons wasn't sure whether to laugh or not.

"No," he finally managed. "We are _not_ naming our molt 'spike'."

"Why not?" Edward demanded. "I think Spike has much more personality, if we're already naming the damn things."

"Because it's the first molt, so its name needs to start with 'A'," Alfons invented.

Edward opened his mouth.

"And _not _Alphonse, either!"

"_Fine, _we'll call it Alice," Edward grumbled, and turned back to the desk, raising his voice again and switching back to English. "Right, I want _Alice_ at three by minus fifty-two. Let's get going."

* * *

By the end of the day the distinct lack of progress on Edward's part was rather disheartening. The logistics of affixing and setting the prisms to keep the beams on course was far more complicated than Alfons had expected, and apparently more so than Edward had expected as well, given his quickly-mounting aggravation. Even with bars spanning the top of the array work-area to hang the prisms and mirrors on, keeping the prisms in place took quite a bit of effort.

Aside from the logistical aspect, the process of constructing the array itself was wildly elaborate. After a few hours Edward had given up on actually working with the molts, and had spent the rest of the time trying to reorganize his notes to make working with the molts simpler.

When it was quite dark out, Alfons decided that enough was enough and went to drag Edward away.

Edward looked up slightly bleary-eyed when Alfons shook his shoulder, and swayed a bit when he stood up.

"Are you okay?" Alfons asked worriedly.

"Got a fucking headache," Edward grunted, shoving the chair away and stalking towards where their coats were hung. It was lucky the generators exuded so much heat, Alfons thought, because it meant that they didn't have to invest in a furnace to keep the warehouse a decent temperature. On the other hand, he didn't even want to think of how hot it would be here come summer.

"I'll cook dinner tonight," Alfons offered, following along. Edward replied with a tired but grateful smile.

They hurried home as fast as possible to get out of the cold. Alfons fixed a quick dinner, after which they settled down with some hot drinks. Edward nursed his tea, drinking it slowly and shivering every so often. Despite the expense they tended to keep the furnace on high, to minimize the aches in Edward's joints from the cold.

Alfons brought in the mail and sat sorting it while he drank his own tea. They rarely remembered to deal with it, so the backlog was quite impressive. He put the trash in one pile, issues of a few science magazines in another, and the bills in the last one. Personal mail didn't arrive often, as Alfons didn't always write to his cousins, and they were fairly slow to answer, but this time there was a letter addressed in his own handwriting marked 'return to sender'.

"Here," he tossed it at Edward. "Something of yours bounced." The letter had been to Edward's father, but he always addressed Edward's letters for him because Edward's handwriting was so illegible.

His lover reached for the letter then froze, staring at it. "It... didn't get to him," he said in an oddly strangled voice.

"I'm sure it doesn't mean anything," Alfons said hesitantly. He knew exactly what this letter was; he remembered the night Edward had spent writing the pages-thick treatise to his father.

"That _bastard_," Edward snarled, crumpling the letter. He shoved his chair back forcefully as he stood up, and threw it violently across the room. "That stupid fucking-"

"Edward!" Alarmed, Alfons stood up as well, unsure what to do. He reached for Edward, but the man brushed him away with a sharp movement.

"It's not enough he abandoned us once," Edward snarled, a worrisome look in his eyes. "I always knew he was a no-good son of a bitch."

"Hey, calm down," Alfons tried, genuinely disturbed. He wasn't quite sure where the reaction was coming from, he had always thought that Edward didn't care for his father much... "Look, maybe there was some mistake and -"

"Well, you know what? _I don't care_!" Edward shouted, seeming not even to notice Alfons. "I don't fucking care if he left or whatever. I don't need him. I never needed him." He was panting harshly, his fists clenched. "I always knew he would do this someday. That stupid fucking bastard never cared about anybody but himself!"

The only thing Edward was proving by this outburst, Alfons thought, was that he probably cared a great deal.

"Maybe something happened," Alfons suggested in a small voice. The impression he had gotten from the few meetings with Professor Hohenheim was that the man was a bit flighty, but meant well. "I'm sure he didn't just abandon-"

"You're making a mistake if you think I give a damn," Edward said coldly, turned his back, and stalked up the stairs. The loud bang of a bedroom door slamming made Alfons flinch. He hesitated for a moment, undecided.

But Edward was hurting, that much was certain, and Alfons hated when Edward shut him out.

Slowly he climbed the stairs, and knocked carefully on the closed door.

"Edward, I know what it's like," he said, his throat closing up. He remembered the emptiness of learning that his own father would never return. "I lost my parents, too."

The door in front of him was abruptly jerked open by Edward, who glared at him. His hair was disheveled, and his eyes strangely bloodshot.

"At least you know he _cared_," Edward hissed venomously. "_You_ were worth hanging on to."

Airing it hurt too much, and Alfons wasn't prepared to contemplate his pain anymore, especially not when Edward was being like this.

"Oh, so_ now_ I feel better_," _he snapped back. Some part of him cynically couldn't help but note that it had been, what, four months since the last time Edward had decided he was nothing but a burden liable to be ditched at the closest opportunity? _Not a bad track record_, he thought dryly, and turned away. Dealing with Edward when he got like that took so much emotional energy... He sometimes wished Edward would just _get the point_ already, that he was here to say, but after being discarded by his father, he supposed the reaction was to be expected.

"H-hey!" Edward reached out to grab his arm, and Alfons looked back, surprised. "Look, I... sorry," Edward blurted shakily. "I'm just pissed off at the old bastard, it's not you, okay?" There was a note of pleading in Edward's voice, and Alfons felt his annoyance melt away.

He smiled softly at Edward, and led him back into the room, not missing the soft sigh of relief.

"Come here," he said softly, sat down on the bed and tugged Edward into his arms. Edward might never outright _ask_ to be cuddled, but he never turned Alfons down.

"Hey," Edward mumbled against his shoulder, "if you think I need comforting or some sort of crap, well I don't."

"I don't think that," Alfons humored him. "I just felt like it."

"Fine." Since the excuse was acceptable, Edward leaned heavily against him, wrapping his arms around Alfons' waist, and his hair uncomfortably prone to getting into Alfons' mouth.

He wasn't sure how long they sat like that, but it was to the point where Alfons' legs were completely numb, and there were several unpleasant aches in various parts of his body from the pressure against them. At long last Edward finally sat up with a sigh, stroked his human fingers slowly through Alfons' hair and kissed him softly on the mouth. As always, the relative discomfort of cuddling was well worth the affection Edward displayed towards him afterwards.

It suddenly occurred to Alfons that if Professor Hohenheim was gone, the only person that Edward had in the world now was... him. He tightened his arms reflexively around Edward's body, feeling a sudden wave of sympathetic loneliness.

"I'm not going anywhere," he promised. "Okay? I'll always-"

"Don't," Edward cut him off, closing his eyes. "Just... I thought I'd always be there for Al. And you saw how well _that_ ended up." The tail end of the statement was a bitter laugh.

_I'm not planning on committing suicide_, Alfons thought, but said, "Well, that's what we're working to fix, right?"

"Yeah." Edward's shoulders slumped, and when he pulled away a bit, Alfons let him. "I... think I'll go to sleep, okay?"

Getting some sleep was an idea Alfons heartily endorsed, even more so since it came from Edward himself. It meant that he wouldn't have to nag Edward to get some sleep, finally.

He stayed up a bit longer, finishing a few more things for the next day. The stupid homework needed to get done _sometime_, after all. Then he got into bed with Edward, who was tossing a bit restlessly. Soon enough he was fast asleep.

* * *

"Ahhh!"

Alfons jerked awake to see Edward sitting up in bed, breathing heavily. Pitch darkness surrounded them, hinting at the late hour, and Alfons had a tired debate with himself – to wake or not to wake?

"You okay?" he mumbled. Sometimes Edward would just apologize and tell him to go back to sleep, when it was nothing more than his usual nighttime horrors.

"He was wrong," Edward said hoarsely. "That's what was in that letter. The stuff he said about alchemy, about souls... I think he got it all wrong, and it's _important_, dammit. Because..."

Rubbing his eyes, Alfons tried to wake up. Well, no sleep tonight, apparently. Alchemy was on the itinerary.

He listened with half an ear as Edward babbled about balancing alchemical equations, stuff that Alfons found difficult to understand when he was awake and concentrating, let alone in the middle of the night when he was half asleep.

"-the point is, the conclusion he drew from that is that souls from this world power alchemy in my world."

_That_ woke Alfons up. "What?"

"And that sort of makes sense, if you consider that the Philosopher's Stone is powered by human life. But it doesn't mesh with three-dimensional alchemy, and that's been driving me crazy. Because the whole basis of three-dimensional alchemy is that each array can _only_ affect the dimension above it, and the fact that I've managed to activate an array already proves that the theory is correct, at least in part. And if the Gate opens – and the Gate is somewhere near the fourth dimension – just because of the soul, that means that the soul is more than three dimensional, and as such, just _can't_ be affected by two dimensional alchemy at all."

Horrified, Alfons could only listen in a sort of anxious fascination. He had known about the Philosopher's Stone – Edward had gleefully told him about it several years ago, when he had always tried to get a rise out of Alfons – but it still terrified him somewhere deep inside.

"- and that got me thinking, because maybe it's not human _souls_ that power alchemy, but human _life, _and that changes the equation entirely."

"How?" Alfons asked, just to show that he was still listening. This tirade must have been building inside Edward for a long time now, because the words were pouring out of him without hardly a pause for breath.

"The way I see it, 'life' is the exact amount of energy necessary to bind a soul to a body until a person dies. When I bound Al's soul to the armor, I created an artificial 'lifetime'. When a Philosopher's Stone is created, then, it means that the souls are disconnected from their bodies, and bound together to the Stone – and when the stone is used, then you're simply breaking the souls away, and using the energy that's created when you tear a soul away from a body, only you've got so much _more_ of it, because you have so many souls bound to the same object." Edward paused, breathing heavily. "But that means that alchemy isn't responsible for killing, because the energy is _there_ already. Whenever there's a war, or anything that cuts off lives and releases that energy – it's ambient, hanging around, and some of it gets used in order to power alchemy. But it doesn't _change_ anything, because the people are already dead."

Apparently, this was simply a condensed version of everything Edward had written in his letter.

It surprised Alfons, a bit, hearing Edward talk like this. He knew that Edward was a caring person, but until now he had never heard his lover express such sentiments. Concern on such an... abstract level, worrying about the _principles_ of Good and Evil and such, were things that he had honestly never thought to hear Edward talking about.

He hadn't really thought Edward cared, and suddenly "the People's Alchemist" that Edward had always talked about being started making more sense.

"This array is going to be the ultimate proof," Edward continued, staring off into space. "Because I _know_ that I used to sometimes use natural energy to power my alchemy, even though life energy is much easier to use, and if I can tap into a supernova then it means that not only is life-energy not the sole source of alchemical energy, but it's not even a necessary component. And if a three-dimensional array opens the fourth dimension, then the theory is sound.

"I wouldn't want to go home if it meant killing other people," he finally whispered.

"Your reasoning sounds logical to me," Alfons offered. Or at least, extremely logical for 3 AM. "Like you said, if the soul is more than three-dimensional, and alchemy only affects the dimension directly 'above' it, then the alchemy from your would couldn't possibly affect the soul." He decided to latch onto the parts of the monologue that he had actually understood.

Edward suddenly laughed. "I just wanted to rub the old bastard's nose in the fact that he was wrong!" With another chuckle, he flopped back onto the bed, and Alfons didn't bother to comment on the fact that the laugh had sounded rather brittle and hollow.

* * *

It took Alfons a while to figure out what was different about Edward that morning. Because the impressions were snatched in between wrestling over the bathroom sink, trying to find his clothes around the mess on the floor, scrambling downstairs to snatch something to eat before leaving, he just registered that there was something subtly off about his lover.

It was only when they were starting to wrap up in preparation to set off that it finally clicked.

"You're limping," he said. "Are your ports hurting? Do you want some painkillers?"

Edward scowled a bit, as he always did when he was forced to confront the weakness of his body, and especially when Alfons pointed it out. "No," he answered shortly. "I'm fine."

"Don't be stubborn," Alfons insisted, leaving off buttoning his coat.

"I'm _not,_" Edward growled, looking away while he tied on his scarf. "My prosthetic's malfunctioning, that's all."

Worried, Alfons took a step towards Edward. "Do you want me to help you replace it?"

"No." With sharp, annoyed movements Edward turned up his collar and pulled on a hat. "It's just some twitching, who gives a fuck? Come on, we're going to be late."

Alfons followed him out into the snow, and soon enough had forgotten all about the incident, because all the professors were talking about exams, and he had a rather sinking feeling in his stomach when he thought of the poor state of his homework for the past month or so.

Well, there was still time, he comforted himself. If he studied hard from now until the exams, he'd definitely be able to make up for it. The difficulty would be balancing schoolwork with the molts, because he'd promised Edward to make him some multicolored ones, and though he had some ideas of how to go about it, it would take more experimentation.

He spent all of Analytical Chemistry playing with the idea of whether colored glass would be able to affect the molt beam sufficiently (if at all), or whether it was worth trying to create the beam using something other than rubies, and if so, what?

* * *

When his classes were finally over, he slogged out into the knee-deep snow, looking for Edward. Near the library he spied a familiar bundled-up figure, his red scarf vivid against the black of his coat, and Alfons headed towards him.

Edward was hunched over and shifting from foot to foot in impatience.

"Listen, Alfons," he hurriedly cut across Alfons' greeting, the wool of the scarf muffling his voice slightly. "Head home without me, okay? Some stuff came up, I'll be along later."

Before a slightly bewildered Alfons' eyes, Edward hurried off, his gait painful and uneven in the snow.

Never mind, Alfons thought to himself, tucking his hands into his pockets and turning in the opposite direction. A few hours alone would give him peace to work on his homework without interruptions, not that the thought was particularly inviting.

Maybe if he finished quickly enough he'd be able to head down to their warehouse and do some experimenting. That thought cheered him up more, and put an extra spring in his step.

In the end, he never did make it to the warehouse. After running into several problems which he didn't even know how to begin, Alfons thanked his lucky stars that Edward wasn't there to watch him floundering his way through books for a way to solve them. A creeping shame ate away at him; he wasn't _stupid_, why was he suddenly running into all these difficulties?

Working as fast as he could, he wanted to finish before Edward returned, and was relieved when he finally set his books and papers aside, and Edward hadn't arrived yet.

Relieved, that is, until he looked at the clock, and realized how late it was.

Edward should have been home already. If Edward had been planning on staying out past nine, he would have told Alfons in advance; something was definitely wrong.

The fear that suddenly gripped him was completely unexpected, wildly irrational, and he tried to calm himself. There was no reason to think that Edward might have gone and done something stupid. With the molts still incomplete and the array only in its early stages, Edward definitely would think twice before risking –

Disgusted with himself, Alfons cut off that thought. Edward wouldn't risk himself, and Alfons didn't need to worry.

Edward was all he really had. He _couldn't_-

To stop his nervous pacing, Alfons sat down on the sofa and tried to read, but the words jittered in front of his eyes. What if Edward, in the aftermath of discovering himself abandoned by his father, had found himself a speakeasy and gotten drunk? Drunkenness was liable to send Edward into depression, in addition to the disorientation that gripped him.

Edward was okay, he had probably just gotten lost in a book, and was oblivious of the time, that was all. Unless he had run into-

The shrilling of the phone cut through Alfons' thoughts, and nearly made him jump in a panic. It was rare that they got phone calls, as they hardly bothered distributing the number to anybody. A hundred scenarios flashed towards his head – Dawes calling to report a calamity at the warehouse, the police, the hospital –

"Hello?" he practically gasped into the mouthpiece.

"Hey," Edward sounded hoarse and rather bitter. "Feel like –"

The rest of Edward's sentence was lost as Alfons sagged against the wall in sheer relief.

"- and Chestnut?"

"What?" Alfons managed, realizing he had no clue what Edward had just asked him.

"I said, do you want to pick me up? I'm by the corner of Charles and Chestnut," Edward repeated tiredly.

"What happened?" Alfons demanded. Picked up? What was Alfons supposed to pick him up _in_, exactly? They didn't own a car...

Mumbling crackled over the line, then Edward's voice, sharp and defensive, came through clear again. "My prosthetic snuffed it, okay? I can't walk, so how about if you help me out before I freeze my balls off?"

Nearly dropping the phone, Alfons blurted out that he was on the way and would be there as fast as he could, threw the phone at its cradle and ran for the door, only just remembering to lock it behind him.

The walk was fairly long, as the public transportation no longer ran at that hour, and it was bitterly cold. Upon reaching Chestnut Street Alfons started keeping an eye out for Edward, hoping he had had the sense to stay under some sort of overhang, at the very least. Gentle snow was falling, not enough to obscure vision, but enough to gather in the creases of clothes and melt into unpleasant dampness wherever it managed to come into contact with skin.

As it turned out, Edward was fairly easy to find. He sat on a patch of sidewalk only partially clear of snow, curled up into a ball for warmth.

"Hey," Alfons called softly, and Edward started, then flinched. A few more steps took him to Edward's side, and without even asking, he knelt and took Edward's right arm, hauling him to his feet.

"Sorry," Edward said a bit stiffly, refusing to meet Alfons' eyes. Even from the awkward angle Alfons could see that Edward's cheeks were whiter than they should be, and his lips were a dark shade of blue.

"I'm glad you called," Alfons said. "I was worried about you."

Not answering, Edward just kept his eyes forward, focused on walking. Now that they were moving, Alfons could see that Edward's right foot was completely unresponsive, and dragged uselessly in the snow, forcing Edward to lean his weight heavily on Alfons.

There was silence between them for a few minutes, punctuated by the squeaking of boots in the snow, and their heavy breathing.

Tired of the silence, Alfons searched for something else to say. "What happened to it?" he tried.

"It just stopped," Edward said a bit shortly. "It was fucked up since the morning."

"Well, why didn't you change it earlier?" Alfons asked, slightly exasperated. He wasn't really surprised when Edward didn't answer, but that meant the conversation had died yet again.

The going was slow, and after a too-short time Alfons found that his back was starting to ache a little from holding Edward up. He had to hunch over slightly so that Edward could sling his arm around his shoulders properly, and the weight was distributed unevenly across Alfons' back.

Physical weakness wasn't the problem, so in the hope of easing the strain on his back, Alfons cleared his throat and aired a suggestion which had the high probability of getting him maimed.

"You know, this might be easier if I carried you."

Edward froze and stared up at Alfons. "No," he said flatly.

Taking the opportunity to straighten up and stretch, Alfons tilted his head to both sides, then crossed his arms. "It's freezing out," he said. "You're practically blue, and the last thing we need is for you to get frostbitten. And we would probably make better time, and it would be easier on my back."

"Shit," said Edward eloquently. Wavering visibly, he bit his lip, and Alfons suddenly realized that it was probably the last part of the statement that had made the most impact. Edward was stubborn enough to risk sickness for his pride, but he would never risk Alfons.

"Whatever."

Surprised, it took Alfons a moment to react, but then he decided to be as matter-of-fact about it as he could, to spare as much of Edward's pride as possible. He knelt in front of Edward, who kept a steadying hand on him all the while so as not to overbalance, and held himself firm as Edward clambered onto his back and wrapped his arms around his neck.

"Ready?" Alfons asked, and when Edward didn't answer, straightened up. He staggered almost immediately, but caught himself, and started trudging down the street again. The going was slow, and Edward was terribly heavy, but at least it was a bit more comfortable than before.

Also, he would never admit it, but he _liked_ the feeling of Edward leaning on him, of knowing that he was necessary. Edward's bulk warmed his back, and Edward's breath puffed against the back of his scarf, melting the snowflakes there.

The route back Alfons chose was along Beacon Street, because it had the best lighting, and thus minimized the chances of slipping in ice.

"So where were you?" Alfons asked, when he got sick of the silence once more. A part of him also wondered if Edward had fallen asleep, with how quiet he was being.

"Hung out with Professor Alder."

Alfons felt cold.

"I just wanted to talk some stuff over with him," Edward said, a strange, wistful note in his voice.

"He's not your father," Alfons blurted, then wanted to kick himself for opening his big mouth.

"I know that!" Edward snapped, shifting on Alfons' back, his fingers digging into the German's shoulders. "How fucking stupid do you think I am?"

"You're not stupid," Alfons said. _Just lonely._

"He's my _teacher_," Edward hissed. "I was asking him stuff about... school and stuff. I am _not_ pulling some sort of substitution here!"

Arguing over the principle of the thing would serve no purpose, because Edward probably wouldn't really listen to him anyway, so Alfons decided to let it go for now. The last thing he wanted was to get into a fight with Edward, and with how prickly the man was being it would be extremely easy right now.

He just rather wished that Edward would stop taking his Godawful mood out on him, because it was getting on his nerves.

It was with a sense of profound relief that he finally spied the stairs to their house. Trying to climb them with Edward on his back would probably be beyond his abilities, so he let Edward down and helped drag him up. A wave of heat greeted them when they entered the house, and Alfons was glad he had thought to turn it up before leaving. They step-hopped Edward into the kitchen, where he started unwrapping his layers of clothing, shivering visibly.

"I'll get you a replacement leg," Alfons offered, and hurried off to the closet where they stored Edward's spare limbs. Upon pulling it open, he understood quite clearly why Edward had been so insistent on using the malfunctioning leg.

_Only three left_, he thought bleakly as he carried one into the kitchen.

Edward had taken off his pants and uncoupled his leg, and Alfons inspected the broken one while Edward hooked up the new one. Several long cracks ran up and down between the knee and ankle. When he checked the joints, he noted that the suspension in the foot was completely ruined, hence why Edward had had no proper support.

"I slipped in some ice," Edward offered, watching Alfons inspect the leg. "Tore the fucking wires."

"It might be possible to make it workable again," Alfons suggested softly. No more replacement limbs would be coming from Professor Hohenheim, he realized. What would Edward do when all of them were gone? Finding a way to fix them, especially the legs, was a necessity if they didn't want to end up with Edward dependent on crutches or a wheelchair.

"It wouldn't have the same range of movement, and you'd probably be limping pretty badly, but look here," Alfons ran his fingers along the ankle joint, "if we weld it together, you could probably at least walk on it." Rewiring the leg would probably be a bad idea, as he wasn't quite sure what made it work in the first place, and he didn't trust his electrical capabilities enough not to mess up something badly.

"Shit!" Edward suddenly exploded, smashing his fist into the table, the noise of it making Alfons jump. "That fucking bastard, I should never have trusted him in the first place, I should have figured out how to make prosthetics of my own." He slammed his fist into the table again, his face twisted in anger.

"We'll figure something out," Alfons said encouragingly, not allowing his worry to surface. Edward's horror of being dependent was legendary; it was a constant battle for him to convince Edward to allow Alfons to help him. He couldn't even imagine what depriving Edward of his arm and leg would do to him – and moreso, do to _them. _"Edward..."

A pair of dangerous, furious gold eyes suddenly met his own, and then both of Edward's fists were twisted painfully in his collar.

"_Fight me_," Edward snarled.

Two contradictory reactions warred within Alfons: mostly panic, because this wasn't a play-fight, and Edward could always beat him anyway. He wouldn't have a chance against Edward in a real fight. And yet some wild part of him wanted to push back, to _try_, even if he ended up bruised and battered.

"I can't," he finally whispered unhappily. "It wouldn't satisfy you." At that moment he wished with all his being that he _could_ fight well enough to pose even the smallest challenge for Edward. He wished he could be everything that Edward ever needed.

It was crushingly disappointing, and yet so utterly natural, that he _couldn't_.

The desperate rage on Edward's face was slightly softened by an almost pleading look, and his hands didn't move from Alfons' collar. After all, Edward had nobody else to turn to.

"I'm sorry." When he closed his hands around Edward's wrists there was no resistance, and he gently detached them from his clothes.

Then Edward tore away with a venomous curse, and Alfons didn't stop him from throwing the nearest object – a mug on the kitchen table – across the room, where it shattered against the wall.

He wasn't sure when his eyes clenched shut, and he was just listening to Edward upstairs raging against the world, his fists and feet thudding into walls and doors, the destruction when something was thrown. He heard the bathroom mirror smash, the thud of a chair destroyed against a wall, the softer thumps of small objects being tossed and rolling haphazardly down the stairs.

The wreckage didn't bother him much; they could afford to replace things, because ultimately, the only truly significant things in their house were their research, and Edward's prosthetics.

There was only one viable solution to their situation, and it lay in a warehouse by the port. But he was afraid their time was running out.

* * *

Only when it was silent once again did Alfons venture out of the kitchen to assess the damage. It wasn't quite as bad as he had thought, he mused as he swept up broken glass, ceramic, and bits of wood. They would need to replace the bathroom mirror for sure. It would probably be a good idea to see to the cracked tiles as well, but he knew they would probably never get around to it. It didn't matter, soon enough they would be gone. He had to keep telling himself that.

When things were a little more cleared up, Alfons found himself standing in front of one of the bedrooms' closed door, debating with himself. He wasn't sure leaving Edward alone was the best of ideas, but on the other hand, everybody needed to be alone sometimes. And frankly, he wasn't sure if he wanted to risk being near Edward yet, given the violent mood he was in. It wasn't that he was afraid of Edward hurting him, because he knew that Edward would _never _do that on purpose, but...

Alfons turned away, and was refused to admit to himself that maybe he _was_ just a little bit nervous.

* * *

Over the next few days, though, the situation seemed to reach some sort of equilibrium. Edward's nightmares were still worse than usual, and his mood was bleak, but he didn't have any more violent outbursts. On the contrary, he seemed rather contrite, and went out of his way to do thoughtful little things like burn Alfons' toast for breakfast, or muck up the laundry by washing his red shirt with some of Alfons' whites thus turning them pink.

Well, it was the thought that counted.

Despite his promises to himself that he would get the molts as perfect as possible as quickly as possible, Alfons had to take a break to study for the end-of-semester exams. Even Edward could be seen cracking down on his books, holed up with notes that actually had to do with mundane science and not otherworldly mystical arts.

Except that trying to study when Edward was very obviously doing his best to drive him crazy was a bit exasperating.

Oh, he was sure that Edward wasn't _really_ trying to drive him crazy, per se. It was just that Edward had something on his mind, and would walk closer to Alfons, then pretend he remembered something in the room and walk back, or faux-casually pass by a larger number of times than necessary.

It was really getting rather hard to ignore.

"Edward? Is something wrong?" he called.

"No," Edward shouted back.

Shrugging, Alfons went back to reviewing.

Two minutes later, Edward came in again, walked around the living room once in feigned boredom, then left.

_Sheesh_. Alfons rolled his eyes, looked back down at the paper, and waited to see how long it would take until Edward did it again.

"Alfons?"

He sat up straight, pretending he hadn't just been waiting for it to happen. "Yeah?"

Edward shifted from foot to foot, unwilling to meet Alfons' eyes in a way that rather worried him.

"I wanted to..." Edward suddenly closed his eyes and thrust a folded square of paper into Alfons' surprised hands. "This is for you," he blurted.

Nonplussed, Alfons carefully unfolded the paper, and inspected the painstakingly penned lines sprawled across it.

_Oh,_ he thought, growing rather warm as he realized their significance. This must have taken Edward hours of work. "Edward, you..." He looked up, almost overwhelmed, with what must have been the goofiest smile of the century plastered on his face.

"It's not that big a deal," Edward stammered, blushing furiously. "Just some dumb calculations."

"Come here," Alfons demanded, lazily fisting one hand in the front of his shirt to pull him down to convenient kissing level. He pressed their lips together, exploring Edward's mouth for a long moment until they both pulled away slightly.

"Thanks," he said, smiling up at where Edward hovered over him, still standing. It wasn't _just_ _nothing_, he knew, because calculating out the exact wavelength for his eye color was far from nothing. "I think I'll frame this and hang it above our bed, shall I?"

"No!" Edward protested, the red spreading all the way to his ears. "I mean, if you-" He trailed off, swallowed, and Alfons took the opportunity to kiss him again.

* * *

He was rather less pleased to discover that it had apparently been a preemptive conciliatory gift, because Edward returned late that night, bruised and bloody, with a grim smile on his face and a malfunctioning arm, and Alfons lost it.

"What were you thinking?" he shouted at Edward furiously. "What is _wrong_ with you?"

Edward watched him sullenly, and Alfons had the feeling that his words were having as much effect as if he were talking to the wall, which was exacerbated when Edward muttered something along the lines of, "the other guys looked much worse when I finished with them".

"Are you _trying_ to get your prosthetics broken? Do you realize how much trouble you could get into?"

Edward was wandering around picking fights _on purpose_, actually looking for trouble, and looked so pleased with himself Alfons didn't know what to do.

"What did you do, find a speakeasy and start insulting the first drunkard you could find? How many did you fight? Did you stop to consider that one of them might have a knife, or were you too busy beating up on innocent-"

"Shut up!" Edward snapped, pushing past him. "I don't need a goddamn nanny, get off my back."

"I will _not. _I'm still trying to understand what part of you ran off thinking 'oh hey, _this_ is a good idea!'" Alfons stormed after his lover. How could Edward not realize how wrong this behavior was? "And if you think I don't notice you running off to Professor Alder's office every break –"

"_It's none of your fucking business_!" Edward whirled around, the blood from his split lip only making his expression more frightening. His expression was a lopsided grimace, his face uneven because of the swelling across his left cheek. "They're _my_ prosthetics, I'll do what I want with them!"

"It is _absolutely my fucking business_!" Alfons bellowed back. "Who exactly do you think is going to have to help take care of you when they've all broken?"

"You never had to take care of me!" Edward cried, and Alfons could see his armor cracking but couldn't bring himself to care. "I never asked you to do that!"

"I wouldn't care so much if you didn't constantly go out of you way to make it more difficult. If you could just _deal_ with the fact that you need to rely on-"

"I wasn't like this back home!" Edward was shaking so hard he was practically rattling. "I was _somebody_, I was the fucking Fullmetal Alchemist, I could take care of myself! _Do you think I'm doing this on purpose_? Do you think I _like_ it here?"

"Stop falling apart already!" Alfons returned. "Stop living somewhere else, start living _now_, you're not home, you're stuck here-"

"I noticed that!"

"If you can't even cope _now_," Alfons forced himself to say, "what happens if this doesn't work?"

Edward froze, and just stood staring at him, gasping for breath. "Shut up!" He finally snarled. "You say that _I _have problems? You-"

"You need to consider the possibility!"

"-stop fucking _prodding_, you keep pushing and pushing, why can't you just fucking let up already-"

"-look at yourself, you're a wreck, and we haven't even started yet-"

"_Stop it already_!" Edward fisted his hands in Alfons' collar, his eyes wild, and was shaking him. "Stop it, just quit it, I can't take this anymore..."

Alfons grabbed Edward's wrists and twisted them viciously, trying to break his grip, and then they weren't talking anymore, because Edward tightened his hold, and Alfons threw a punch, and that opened the floodgates. There was something cathartic about being able to lash out indiscriminately, because even now some part of him knew that it would be difficult for him to actually hurt Edward.

That reminded Alfons that Edward must have gotten into a fight with at least two people at once in order to come back so bruised, which pissed him off all over again, and he got Edward in the belly with his knee – a lucky shot. Then Edward had him pinned, and was looking sort of angry and hurt and exhilarated all at once, while Alfons twisted and snarled and tried to get away. For possibly the first time in his life, he understood why Edward liked fighting.

But it didn't help, because it didn't change the fact that Edward had gone out looking for danger, and that was when Alfons realized that his anger was just a flimsy illusion covering panic. Something must have shown on his face, because Edward looked uncertain, and his grip loosened. Alfons lunged at Edward, not even knowing what he himself intended to do until he had buried his face in his chest and wrapped his arms around Edward as tightly as he could.

"Huh?" Edward managed, his arms suddenly useless by his sides.

"Don't _do_ this to me," Alfons mumbled, trying to regulate his breathing. "Don't just go off and..."

If he couldn't even hold on to Edward _now_, what could he possibly do if things went wrong? The last time it had happened, Edward had gone and killed himself, Edward was _capable_ of it. What would he possibly do with himself if his dreams were gone and Edward was gone and he had already left his country and pretty much cut ties with his family and –

"Sorry," Edward said softly, his voice a bit gruff, and awkwardly stroked Alfons' hair. "This isn't fair to you, is it?" No mention was made of what, exactly, was being unfair, but Alfons knew that this was the closest Edward would get to admitting it.

"But Alfons," his lover continued, his voice almost pleading. "It's going to work. It _has_ to work. I can't consider any other possibility, see?"

He saw. He saw far too well.

"I promise I won't run off without saying anything," Edward continued, and he probably thought he was being reassuring.

Or maybe, Alfons told himself, he was just reading too much into it, and it was simply an unfortunate word choice on Edward's part. Because what Edward _really_ meant was that he wouldn't stay out late without telling Alfons. He couldn't bear to consider any other possibility.

* * *

_**Notes: **First off, I hope you enjoyed. And now, several announcements: I put a new link on my profile page for another fanart, this time by me, actually (what can I say, I couldn't resist). Also, this chapter's title is pretentious, too. I'm admitting it._

_Now, as you might have gathered, I don't live in the safest of places. We had two more attacks, both with fatalities (one this Saturday). As a result of paranoia, I sent bakadeshi / Cryogenia (my wonderful, awesome beta) all the rest of the chapters of this fic, including an overview of what should happen in what I haven't written yet. In case I suddenly fall of the face of the planet, or something, so she'll be able to do something with it. I know there's something sort of lame about that, but I've been working on this story for more than a year, and I've grown really attached to it.  
Yes, it's kind of dumb and paranoid, but I did it anyway. And I'm telling you, so you know where to look. (which is also sort of dumb and paranoid, but I did that, too)_

_Third thing - I'm starting my exam period now, so the next few updates might be a little bit shorter and more sporadic, but I'll do my best on them (just so you guys know what to expect). Thanks to all of you who are reading and commenting. Your encouragement is priceless._


	26. Losers

Before things started working out, before Alfons had found a way to make multicolored molts, even before the second molt had gotten christened, all work ground to a halt because of exams.

They locked up the lab and sent all the men home, but for a few left on guard rotation. Signs of inactivity could attract burglars and they couldn't risk it.

Alfons' heart felt oddly heavy at the prospect of staying out of the lab until exams were over, especially as now he would have to devote all his time to studying. Funny, he thought to himself, but he could remember a time when he had actually looked forward to this sort of thing. Then again, that time had been when Alfons had still devoted himself to rocketry for the glory of Germany.

He cut off that thought.

"Stupid university," Edward was muttering under his breath. "I swear, if we didn't need to pass some of these courses in order to get into the more advanced stuff next semester, I'd say to hell with it all. Fucking waste of time, memorizing all this stupid shit."

"I thought you liked calculus," Alfons said, then remembered just who taught the subject, and wished he hadn't said anything.

Shoving his hands deep in his pockets, Edward slouched, and grumbled. "I can learn calculus back home, too. I just never bothered, because I was too busy with alchemy."

"I didn't know you had calculus in your world," Alfons observed idly.

"Why the hell wouldn't we?" Edward sounded bewildered.

"No real reason, I guess. But you don't have rockets in your world."

Edward opened his mouth, thought about it, then closed it. "Point."

They returned home, decided it was Edward's turn to make dinner, and split to their separate studies. Alfons got the jump on Edward and claimed the sofa, forcing Edward to go off to the study. It wasn't so much that the living room was more comfortable than the study, but that their stuff tended to be strewn across the living room, while whoever was relegated to the study had to collect his things and actually move them, something which neither of them was particularly inclined to do. It was too much like cleaning up.

Around eleven Alfons decided to go to sleep, and went to coax Edward away from his books to join him. Only when they had curled up in bed together, Edward's arm slung across his middle, Alfons realized that he was actually rather hungry, and that Edward had never bothered making dinner at all.

"Idiot," he poked Edward, but decided he wasn't hungry enough to actually bother getting up now.

* * *

That night he dreamt that he was late for an exam which was somehow on material he hadn't learned. When he went to look for Edward to see if the same thing had happened to him, he found that Edward had tried to activate the array without him, failed, and jumped off the physics building.

He woke in a cold sweat, lungs sending spikes of pain through his body, and feeling ill. Trying not to disturb Edward, he climbed out of bed, suppressing coughs, and fumbled his way to the bathroom and his cough syrup.

Still shaking in reaction to the dream, he wondered sort of bitterly why he couldn't be satisfied by a normal life, an existence free of strange, hopeless dreams, and whether somebody with worms in their lungs could every lay claim to being properly 'normal' anyway. Oh, and there was the fact that he liked guys to contend with, too.

Trying to regulate his breathing, he sank to the floor and pressed his forehead against his knees.

He didn't know how long he had sat until sounds of uneven footsteps came close, Edward pushed open the bathroom door, and sat down next to him.

"Are you okay?" The question was accompanied by a hand running soothingly up and across his shoulder blades.

After several minutes of heavy breathing Alfons decided he wasn't going to break into coughing if he tried talking. "Edward, why did you kill yourself?"

The hand on his back stilled. "What do you mean?" Edward hedged.

Right now Alfons _really_ wasn't in the mood for crap, but he kept his temper under control. "When you brought your brother back. Why did you kill yourself?"

Alfons couldn't bring himself to look at Edward, and just watched the floor tiles, listening to Edward's breathing, much softer than his own labored breaths.

"It's not how you're thinking," Edward finally said, very softly. "I didn't... have a choice."

"You could have chosen to live," Alfons replied, his voice rough. Maybe in the end it had worked out okay, and if Edward hadn't sacrificed himself Alfons might never have gotten to meet him, but it didn't change the fact that what Edward had done scared him.

"I couldn't have," Edward replied, his voice pleading. "I swear, Alfons, it was the only logical thing I could have done."

"_Really_?" Alfons jerked his head up to glare at Edward. "How exactly was that a situation where the only solution was suicide?"

Edward flinched almost-imperceptibly, but met Alfons' eyes squarely. There was no guilt on his face, and Alfons _didn't understand_.

"I was... look, I don't want to talk about it, Alfons, but things had gone so _wrong_, and I just... Alfons, it wasn't easy, and... I... let's change the fucking subject already."

"And what am I supposed to think?" Alfons retorted, pressing. "From my point of view, I'll tell you now, it looks pretty darn bad."

"You're supposed to trust me," was Edward's shaky too-quiet answer.

"You're not giving me a reason to!" Alfons snapped back, and then regretted it when he saw the hurt flit across Edward's face.

"I don't fucking lie to you," Edward suddenly snarled, eyes flashing. "I fucking told you I was from a parallel universe and you thought I was _insane_, and I _still_ told you the truth, you bastard! Fine, so I don't always tell everything, but I _don't fucking lie to you, Alfons_!"

Edward had a point, a small, ashamed part of Alfons said quietly. He was just working on gathering the courage to admit he was being a bastard when Edward continued.

"I fucking _told_ you what it's like to – to die," Edward forced out, his breath was coming heavier, and his expression sort of wild. "It was... it _hurt _and it... took so fucking _long_, and goddamnit Alfons h-how can you think I'd _want_ to go through... that _again_ –"

Shocked to his core, Alfons realized that Edward was well on the way to hyperventilating. Suddenly he thought of the fact that it had been a while since Edward had last told him about his death, and come to think of it, Edward had never been particularly easy when talking about it, and with Edward so stressed out, his usual reaction was probably compounded.

"Hey, hey, calm down, I'm sorry-"

"Get off!" Chest heaving, Edward shoved Alfons' hands away and scrambled to his feet. "It wasn't fucking _easy_, and if... if you think I'm going to let _y-you _go through that-"

"I don't-"

"I promise!" Edward blurted, clenching both fists, eyes shut tight. "If you want, I'll fucking promise you whatever you want, just – s-stop _asking_ about it, because I _can't_ be thinking of how much it hurts, I... don't want to do it _again_-"

Pausing to gasp again, Edward made a visible effort to get himself under control, and Alfons saw a glimmer of moisture at the corners of his eyes. Edward made to scrub at them, and a look of utter self-loathing crossed his face. When Alfons started to reach for him, Edward flushed in humiliation and took a step back, so Alfons dropped his hands and let Edward back out of the room.

After waiting long enough to let Edward (hopefully) regain his composure, Alfons went back to their room, where Edward was lying on the bed, pretending to be asleep.

Though their conversation felt far from concluded, Alfons regretfully decided to let Edward have what dignity he could salvage, and decided to see if Edward would bring up the subject again on his own before pressing.

He had the sinking feeling that he had been a rather crappy friend tonight, and contritely cuddled up to Edward. He would make it up to him.

* * *

Staging a confrontation about last night before breakfast would be a bad idea, Alfons thought as he shaved Edward. Neither of them were awake yet, so it wouldn't really be a fair conversation. Over toast and coffee, though, he decided that he should try and apologize before he lost his nerve.

"Edward?" he began in a small voice.

Edward made an inquiring noise, looking at Alfons over the rim of his coffee mug. He didn't sound overtly hostile, but that didn't necessarily mean anything. Alfons always had to remind himself that though Edward was often rather transparent about his feelings, he could also be astonishingly good at hiding them when he wanted to.

"About last night, I just-"

A look of almost-panic crossed Edward's face. "Oh shit!" He suddenly jumped up, cutting Alfons off. "I think my toast is burning!" He tore off to the kitchen, leaving Alfons gaping.

_That_ was a transparent attempt at changing the subject, if he had ever seen one.

Rescuing the toast also seemed to be taking a disproportionate amount of time, and Alfons had practically finished his coffee before Edward came back nervously, casting Alfons a wary look. Given his behavior, the German had no doubt that Edward would bolt on some other pretext if he raised the subject again, so he just sighed and didn't even try.

But he couldn't forget the fact that last night he had essentially told Edward that he didn't trust him, and how that had hurt his lover, and it didn't help the part of him that had curled up in shame, and refused to be comforted.

When he kissed Edward goodbye, heading to the library for a study group, Edward wouldn't meet his eyes.

* * *

The need to apologize dwindled over the next few days, not because Alfons felt any better about it, but because there were simply no opportunities. When he was home, Edward was buried behind stacks of books, scrap paper piled around him, and the faint rasp of the slide rule as he checked his answers. Most of the time Alfons just caught glimpses of him when he looked up to stretch, or went to the kitchen to grab another cup of tea or some biscuits.

Sometimes they ate quick dinners together. At first Alfons had felt guilty about studying at the table (he didn't see Edward all day, shouldn't he at least pay a little attention to him now?), and so hid his notes on his lap and tried to sneak glances at them every so often. When he saw that Edward appeared to be memorizing formulas written on a scrap of paper he kept hidden under his plate, Alfons decided to stop feeling guilty. From then on, table conversation mostly consisted of bringing up difficult problems for review.

At some point Edward suggested studying together, but Alfons, having the feeling that he was struggling more than Edward was and ashamed of it, declined, saying it would be too tempting to get distracted.

Edward seemed to accept the excuse, even though it was a rather flimsy one, as they both knew that Alfons was too nervous about the upcoming exams to be very interested, and too exhausted from staying up until the wee hours of the morning to have any energy. Several times Edward actually _had_ shown willingness, but he was also focused enough to apparently be able to turn off his libido at will upon encountering an unreceptive Alfons.

In an attempt to make up for it, Alfons used one of his leg-stretching breaks to ostensibly take a walk around the block, while in reality he set off to see if he could track down some dates for Edward. It took him longer than he would have liked, and he ended up spending more than he probably should have, but in the end he managed to acquire a small bag of dried ones.

He returned home blue with cold, soaked to above the knee with frozen water, but victorious. After hanging his wet clothes in the bathroom, looking into the half-shattered mirror to fix his messy, wet hair a bit, he crept into the study where Edward was hunched over his books.

"Hey," he said, giving a soft warning. His heart thudded in his chest, hopeful. Edward _would_ be pleased... right?

In stages, Edward straightened up: first raising his head and looking around at Alfons, then pulling his seat in and working his back out of its curve, finally twisting his upper body around, and splaying his legs out.

"You're wet," Edward observed. "And you're wearing your long underwear. I thought you hated them."

"They do keep out the cold," Alfons defended himself, because he _did_ rather dislike the itchy wool. "But someday science will come up with something better." He paused. "Maybe I should ditch optics, huh? Best of both worlds – I won't have to do the stupid exams, and I can be part of such a great invention."

Alfons was gratified when Edward snorted at that.

"Well, you know in my world -"

"Don't!" Alfons interrupted petulantly. "I don't want to hear about how in your world people don't have to suffer annoying woolen long underwear. I don't believe you, anyway."

"It's true," Edward insisted, the corners of his mouth twitching with mirth. "In fact, in my world we have portable radiators that people wear on their heads to keep the cold away."

Alfons gave him a skeptical look.

"And pigs can fly, too," Edward added helpfully. "If they're chimeras, that is."

Maybe Edward wasn't angry at him. The thought was enough to put a smile on his face, and he stepped over to where Edward sat, running one hand up his arm and caressing his human shoulder.

"I brought you something," he said, dropping the small bag on the desk in front of his lover. It took Edward a moment to realize what it was, but when he did, his expression brightened visibly.

"Dates!" he exclaimed, grinning in a way that masked the dark circles under his eyes and temporarily chased away the exhaustion on his features. Eagerly, he tore at the bag and pulled one out.

Alfons watched indulgently as Edward chewed enthusiastically, idly tangling his fingers in Edward's ponytail and working out knots.

"What's gotten you all clingy?" Edward tilted his head back, wondering.

"I'm not clingy." He tugged Edward's head back a bit more and kissed his sugary mouth. When he pulled away, Edward looked pleased, but also sort of worried.

"Alfons, we should get back to studying..."

The prospect of pulling Edward's chair away from the desk and climbing on top of him was so much more attractive, though.

"Alfons," Edward said tentatively, pulling at his sleeve. "I'm sure you'll do fine on the exam, if that's what you're-"

Anger abruptly spiked through him, banishing his mood. "What makes you think that?" he snapped back, more harshly than he had intended.

Edward looked taken aback. "I just thought... since we're both studying so hard-"

"Don't make assumptions!" Alfons bit out, before turning on his heel and stalking out of the room, ignoring Edward's startled yelp of "Alfons?" that followed him out.

_God_, he thought shakily, leaning against the wall, still furious. For Edward to conclude he was _worried_, as if Alfons were less smart than him, less capable-

No, damn it. What was wrong with him? Edward hadn't implied anything of the sort. He had just been trying to be _nice_, and Alfons had practically bitten off his head for it. It was stupid of him to behave this way, but the thought of going back and explaining that he was just...

Nervous, that's all he was. Nervous because exams were coming up, and his workload was heavy, and Edward's ability to study like crazy made him feel inadequate. With a sigh, Alfons made his way back to his own notes, and told himself it would all be fine.

* * *

When the first week of exams arrived, it became clear that it _wouldn't_ be. Tempers grew short with stress and lack of sleep, and they also gave up entirely on cooking in favor of takeout. It had taken one night of Edward making a salad, mixing it with rice and calling it dinner, to convince Alfons that spending the extra money for a week would be worth it.

Forgetting the whole business where Edward still didn't seem to register that Alfons did not consider chopping up raw vegetables, mixing them with oil and who-knew-what to be _any _kind of food, adding rice to the result only added insult to injury (and ruined some perfectly good rice). Edward insisted that the concoction was actually tasty, and ate all of it, out of sheer stubbornness, Alfons was positive.

And when the tests finally began... it was bad. The shock was a big one, because Alfons couldn't remember a single time in his _life_ when he had struggled at an exam. He was _smart_, he had _studied_, the fact that he had spent the better part of the semester busy with other activities shouldn't make this much of a difference!

After much sweating and grappling with it, he was forced to hand in a paper in which he hadn't completed all the questions, for the first time of his life. He felt ill, but told himself that it was just analytical chemistry, which wasn't his strongest subject anyway.

Both optics and thermodynamics encouraged him greatly, and improved his mood; he knew thermodynamics from rocketry, and the optics had been particularly useful for working on the molts. Calculus went badly, though, dragging his spirits back down.

It didn't help that as the exams passed, Edward grew more and more cheerful, already looking forward to the prospect of a vacation they could devote entirely to working on the array.

Worse, Edward was one of those insufferable pricks who felt the need to have a blow-by-blow of the entire exam afterwards, which Alfons didn't really like doing in general, and now just made him feel even worse. Several of the results Edward mentioned sounded quite different from his own, and with his luck, _he_ was probably the one in the wrong.

"...so I did a triple integral on the positive limit of the cone to get the flow inside it," Edward was saying. "And I should have done a transformation of the circular coordinates and run the theta from zero to two pi and phi from zero to pi. But-"

He wished Edward would just _stop._ Shoving his hands in his pockets, he tried to tune out the animated soliloquy, without much success.

"-at first I forgot to multiply by a Jacobian matrix and I got ten pi but when I _did _multiply it I got five pi squared-"

Alfons' temples were pounding, and finally he whirled on Edward. "_Will you just can it already_?"

All emotion dropped off Edward's face, leaving him staring in silent shock. It was short-lived, though, because he looked angry almost immediately, and bared his teeth aggressively. Alfons braced himself for a punch that never came, because Edward just hissed a low '_fine' _and stalked off.

Any guilt Alfons felt was overshadowed by relief that at least now Edward had stopped _talking._

* * *

He spent the rest of his day pretty much moping and angry at himself. Unbidden, his thoughts turned to Edward, to the times they would do homework together, and how Edward would grin and offer him a "good one!" when he came up with a particularly effective solution. By afternoon, he really wanted to make up with Edward, because he had the feeling that having Edward snuggle up to him and maybe tell him that he wasn't an abysmal failure would make him feel a bit better. It didn't look like he would be getting any comfort from Edward in the near future, though, because Edward was very busily ignoring him and radiating extreme annoyance.

A glimmer of an idea taking root in his mind, Alfons grabbed his coat, wrapped up, and headed out. In case Edward actually noticed, he called out a goodbye and mentioned he was leaving, though he got no response. He convinced himself that he didn't care.

Acquiring bootleg was easier than he had expected. He actually ended up calling Aisenyev, who sounded surprised, but helpfully directed him to where he could get his hands on some alcohol. Unsurprisingly, the Russian had directed him towards vodka, which Alfons wasn't used to drinking, but figured that any alcohol was better than none. He crept home, trying not to look suspicious, the nondescript bottle hidden under his coat.

Hurrying back inside the house, he quickly stomped snow off his boots, tossed them aside with his other outdoor wear, and went in search of Edward. He found his target sitting in his room, curled up on his bed with a book on his knees. At first glance he looked relaxed, with his golden hair hanging loose about his shoulders, a light shirt on half unbuttoned, but the crease between his eyebrows, the tension in his body, and the strong "leave me alone" vibes were impossible to miss.

"Hey," he said tentatively, venturing a few steps into the room. Edward grunted noncommittally. Emboldened, Alfons went over to the bed and sat down gingerly on the edge of it.

"You're bothering me," Edward said flatly.

"I was going to apologize," Alfons said tentatively.

"Your weight is changing the plane of the mattress and affecting the balance center of my book. You just ruined my concentration. Go away."

Ignoring Edward's words, Alfons shifted closer to him, and stroked his fingertips up Edward's shin. "I've just been really tense lately, Edward. It wasn't you. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have yelled."

"You're in my light." Since he had entered the room Edward had yet to look at him.

"I thought maybe we could both unwind," he persisted hopefully. "I got some bootleg, see? We haven't drunk together in ages."

At that finally Edward exhibited some signs of interest, and his eyes flicked over to the proffered bottle in Alfon's hands.

Now Edward was wavering, and Alfons was encouraged. He smiled hopefully, because even if Edward was being annoying, and even if he was still sort of angry, he didn't want Edward mad at him. It wasn't Edward's fault he was so smart.

"I... I guess," Edward finally said slowly, his eyes intent on Alfons, who was honestly surprised at the fairly quick capitulation. But he recovered quickly, and encouraged Edward downstairs with him.

"Why did you get this?" Edward asked from behind him.

"I told you," Alfons replied just a bit impatiently, "so we could drink together, like we did in Germany."

Edward sat down, watching as Alfons scrounged for some clean glasses. Out of the corner of his eye, Alfons could see Edward looking at his hands, his human fingers playing nervously with his prosthetic ones.

"What did you get?" Edward asked, as Alfons plonked down two glasses in front of them.

"Vodka," Alfons said, pouring some into both glasses.

Edward eyed the clear liquid a bit dubiously, eyes flicking back and forth between the glass and Alfons. "How strong is it? I've never had this before."

"I don't know," Alfons said shortly, pushing a glass to Edward, unsure himself why he was so impatient, and why he didn't just say that according to Aisenyev, it was about 40 alcohol. "Well?" he lifted his glass, and waited pointedly for Edward to do the same.

He smiled at Edward and took a sip, reflecting idly that watching Edward drink vodka wasn't the same as watching him drink good German beer. The vodka didn't match his eyes the way a light did, and somehow he remembered Edward in Germany being much more enthusiastic about drinking in general, unlike the slight reluctance he seemed to be showing now.

After seeing the draught Alfons took, Edward gave in and took a gulp of his own, only to choke slightly on the drink.

"It's a bit strong," Alfons said, smiling a bit, rather smug over the fact that he had managed not to choke on the bitterness. "Come on, I'll match you."

"It's hardly a competition," Edward said a bit hoarsely, before taking another, more ginger sip. "You could always drink me under the table."

"Don't be a spoilsport, it's just for fun," Alfons protested, leaning back and enjoying the buzz he could feel building. To distract his lover, Alfons started telling him idly of books he had read lately, amusing incidents from university, anything he could come up with. He was aware that he was rambling a bit, the vodka being a bit stronger than he had expected, especially after months of no alcohol at all. But the distractions were working; Edward drank more, his eyes growing a bit unfocused and glazed, head listing to one side as he regarded Alfons with a look that grew increasingly distressed as time went by.

At some point, in a burst of clarity, Alfons wondered when he had forgotten that Edward didn't actually _like_ drinking, and had always done it in Germany to find release, oblivion, and escape from his nightmares. And yet, having already started, Alfons kept going, keeping their glasses full, and registered eventually that Edward seemed to be trying to work up the resolve to push his drink away before he was too far gone, but he got distracted by the wood grain.

"This tree is from a mountain north of here," Edward mumbled, his nose millimeters from the table. "In the second winter of its life there was a blizzard that nearly killed it. And-"

_There he goes_, Alfons thought, watching Edward mumble out the history of a Goddamn tree, shoulders shaking and sweat breaking out on his skin.

"Hurts," Edward gasped out in English, clenching his hands into the edge of the table until his knuckles turned white. "I don't... let me _go_, let Al go, no, no, I don't wanna go back in there..." the sentence broke up on a breathy whine, and then Edward was talking about something else, which Alfons didn't really follow, his mind hazy.

"Not so smart, huh," he said vaguely, patting his lover on his shaking right hand. "Sucks to be stupid, doesn't it? I'm _not_ stupid."

"Stop," Edward begged the table pitifully. "Stop talking to me, I don't want to get lost, please, make it stop..."

This wasn't fun anymore, Alfons suddenly realized, and reached over to pet Edward's head comfortingly, trying to calm him down. He didn't like Edward being sad.

Had Edward's drunken raving always been so frightening?

"Edward, wake up and talk to me," he said a bit petulantly. "I don't want you to be drunk anymore."

Suddenly jerking away from his hand, Edward leaned over, and choked twice before he vomited on the floor. Alfons watched helplessly as his lover gagged and retched, looking absolutely miserable. After several minutes it looked like Edward was finished, because he lay his head down on the table, gasping. Eventually Alfons managed to rouse himself enough to get up and walk unsteadily around the table, pulling at the back of Edward's shirt.

"Come away from here, I think you need to go to bed," he said, trying to keep his balance and pull Edward up at the same time, which was more difficult than it should be.

"I'm sorry, Alfons," Edward suddenly said, sounding absolutely heartbroken. Alfons paused, confused, but Edward wasn't looking, his eyes glazed and staring off into the distance. "Don't go, Alfons, please don't go..."

"I'm right here," Alfons protested, managing to get Edward sort of upright and pulling him away from the table. "Let's go to sleep, Edward, I don't want to drink anymore."

The body in his arms was heavy, and Edward wasn't particularly helpful in the walking department. Suddenly Edward straightened up a little bit, and looked straight at Alfons, a perplexed look on his face.

"Who are you?" he slurred. "You're so... messy..."

Alfons heart dropped right through to his stomach, and it was like a wash of cold water to his system. "It's me," he managed, gripping Edward's upper arms tightly, trying to get Edward to look at him. "I'm Alfons, Edward, look at me!"

It didn't seem like Edward could hear him, because his eyes were losing focus, his eyebrows drew together in distress, and his pupils dilated.

"Don't go," Edward suddenly begged, struggling in Alfons arms, his eyes moving about crazily. "Don't... go..." the words trailed off into meaningless babble, and finally Edward slumped heavily, his sudden weight dragging both of them to the floor. Alfons yelped, and tried to keep his hold on Edward's limp body.

"Edward?" he asked in a small voice, shaking him a bit. Edward's head lolled, his eyes open, staring, breathing shallow. "Edward." He pulled his body close, and thought of the fact that there had been some point in getting drunk tonight, and they had missed it badly.

--

He woke up in bed the next morning feeling like absolute shit. In all the nostalgia about getting drunk with the boys, he had forgotten about the hangover that usually followed. An audible groan suddenly reached his ears, and for a moment he thought it was him, until he turned his head and saw that Edward lay next to him, also still clothed.

What seemed like hours passed as they lolled in bed, and why not? Their exams were over, they had nowhere they needed to be. It was only after a while that he thought of the fact that if he didn't drink something (that _wasn't_ alcohol) his hangover would probably never go away, and that dehydration wasn't fun. Add to that the fact that both of them were unwashed and Edward sort of smelled like vomit, and getting up was probably a good idea.

Convincing Edward of this plan of action took more effort, though, because he just turned his face to the wall and ignored Alfons' prodding. With perseverance and much self-control, Alfons finally managed to get both of them out of bed and into the bathroom. He washed his face, pushed Edward into the tub, and went to make some coffee. In the kitchen he encountered the leftovers of yesterdays binge, and was regretfully forced to clean it up because it was simply too disgusting to leave. At least Edward's stomach had been fairly empty, he comforted himself. When Edward stumbled out of the bathroom he went in to take a bath, and after spending some time in the warm water, he put on a fresh pair of underwear and pants, and started feeling more like a human being.

Downstairs he found Edward sitting by the kitchen table with a mug of something hot, looking haggard and forlorn. Awkwardness suddenly gripped him, as memories of last night flashed through his mind.

There was no question in his mind about his guilt, and now it raged through him unchecked. Why had Edward just _let_ him? he wondered in a sort of agony. Edward had made some protests, of course, but he had just... taken it.

"Are you feeling better?" Edward's voice was raspy and tired, but there was no anger in it. In vain Alfons searched his face for the betrayal he knew Edward should be feeling. Failing, he made to sit down in his seat across from Edward, but suddenly remembered last night too clearly, and opted to stay standing, leaning on the counter.

He was so busy searching Edward's face for emotions that he only registered Edward's question a few minutes later. "Huh?"

"You've been so cranky lately," Edward mumbled in explanation, "And then you wanted me to drink with you... I thought maybe it would help you unwind a bit, I know I'm crap company when I drink, but since you really wanted, I didn't mind trying..." Under Alfons' stare Edward wilted visibly, until his eyes fell to the wooden tabletop. "That bad, huh," he finally whispered, trailing off into silence.

For _him_ Edward had... he had just gone and...

"You should have said something!" Alfons burst out, his heart threatening to beat a hole in his chest. "You don't even _like_ drinking! Why did you _do_ that?" The volume of his voice only exacerbated his headache from the hangover, but he failed at modulating it.

"I was trying to make you happy," Edward said reluctantly, his ears burning in shame, gaze firmly fixed on the table.

Words came pouring out of Alfons uncontrollably, born of the fear from last night. "You weren't talking! You didn't recognize me and then you just stopped moving and I dragged you to bed and-"

"But you knew that's what happens to me," Edward interrupted, looking perplexed and so very hurt that Alfons could hardly bear to look at him.

He didn't know what was wrong with him. Maybe some part of him had honestly forgotten, maybe some part of him had orchestrated the whole thing – none of that excused his treatment of Edward.

For better or for worse, Edward wasn't a normal person, and would never _be_ normal. It wasn't all novelty and adventure and riches; sometimes it was pain and nightmares and misery, and Alfons had sworn to accept all the diverse sides of Edward.

In that case, he'd better get accepting, because Edward was fast slipping into the 'misery' aspect, and Alfons could really do with less of that.

"I'm angry," he said, "because I hurt you, and you let me do it." The pounding in his head was worsening, so Alfons went over to steal Edward's mug and take a sip of the still-warm coffee. His mind cleared a bit, Alfons dragged over a chair and sat down next to Edward, lacing his fingers through Edward's human ones. "Why did you let me hurt you?" he asked gently, aware that the fuzziness in his mind was making him repeat himself.

A soft smile crossed Edward's features, a smile that Alfons knew was meant solely for him.

"Because I want to make you happy."

The whole situation was so twisted and messed up, and Alfons wracked his brains trying to come up with anything positive about it to try and cheer himself up. Well, there was the fact that Edward was talking to him; that was something.

"I would be happier if you were happy too," Alfons said honestly, because this sort of thinking could easily snowball into a perversion of their relationship, if Edward got into his head that he should hurt himself to make Alfons happy.

"Alfons, I..." Edward looked down at their entwined hands, then set his jaw, visibly steeling himself before addressing the German again. "I've not quite been entirely truthful," he blurted. "And I can't take it anymore."

Alfons was left speechless, having no clue what Edward was talking about, but his mind was happy to provide any number of horrible things Edward could have kept hidden.

"I know that I've told you about my adventures, and you think I'm some kind of super-alchemist, and yeah, I was hot shit back home, but I..." Edward swallowed, his eyes still focused on their linked hands, "my track record is awful."

The fingers around Alfons' tightened, and Edward was speaking faster, as if afraid to lose his nerve.

"Yeah, I was the boy prodigy and junk, but the truth is that I failed in everything that really counted. I fucked up my mom's transmutation, and then I fucked up my brother. I couldn't save Nina, and I fucked up the situation in Lior and I couldn't keep them from making the Philosopher's Stone. Dante beat me without even trying, and I didn't get rid of the homunculi, and then I went and fucking _died_, and Al had to save me." Edward raised his eyes to meet Alfons', though it was clear that the effort it took was monumental.

"The point is, if you want to know anything about me," Edward told him hoarsely, "you should know that. And the worst part is that every time I fuck up, somebody _else_ is screwed over because of me, and I make it out okay. I don't know if I have the best or the worst luck in the world." He laughed bitterly.

Alfons wasn't sure if "okay" was exactly the word to describe Edward, but that wasn't the point right now. "If you're trying to scare me off, you're going to fail, I'm telling you right now," he informed his lover.

"But _listen,"_ Edward protested. "If my life is anything to go by, I'm due for my next major fuck-up right about now, and if only things would go _wrong_ more I'd be calmer, but the way things are now..." Gently, Edward disentangled their linked hands and brought his fingers up to stroke the side of Alfons' face. "If I lose you, I'd never forgive myself."

Edward was so earnest and serious, Alfons couldn't help but feel a chill run down his spine at the words. Nonetheless, he kept his voice steady when he answered.

"You have no reason to think something like that is going to happen." He raised a hand and covered Edward's with it, where it rested against his face.

"Except for the fact that it always does," Edward responded, his fingers twitching against Alfons' cheek. "It almost makes me think there _is_ some sort of deity running this world, and they probably hate me."

God was merciful, but this was probably not the time to mention that fact. "That's not true," Alfons said softly. "It doesn't matter what things were like until now, this is going to work out just fine." He spoke confidently, as if by the force of his conviction he could make it true.

It didn't seem to be working, because Edward had his jaw set hard, his face scrunched up in an attempt to keep emotions from bursting through, until he made a small sound and suddenly jumped at Alfons, throwing his arm around his neck and burying his face in his bare shoulder.

The German just sat there for a moment, frozen, unsure how to respond to this sudden act. Not putting his arms around Edward would probably be a bad idea, he thought, the moment his mind caught up with what was happening, and he brought both arms up to pull Edward tight against him. Fear was contagious, he knew, and so fought down the nervousness Edward was infecting him with. If both of them were to fall apart, Edward's fears would certainly come true. He would have to hold himself together, no matter what. At least one of them had to stay functional.

Suddenly he thought of his own failures, and felt abashed at how hard he had been taking it.

Nothing he had gone through even compared remotely to the blows Edward had taken in his life, and still picked himself up and kept going – at least until now. Alfons wasn't sure that Edward could stand another blow, and tightened his arms around Edward's shoulders, which suddenly felt ominously fragile.

"I don't know how much longer I can take it," Edward murmured into his shoulder.

Hoping to distract him, to assuage his guilt, shamed by Edward's confession which was so much more profound than his own, Alfons kissed the side of Edward's head and told him everything would be alright, mentally resolving to go and do some praying. And he promised himself that once Edward was calmer, he would confess that he was afraid that he had failed some of his exams, and if even if Edward no longer looked at him quite the same way, he would be okay with that.

"I'm just so sick of failing," Edward said.

* * *

_Whew, I'm sorry this chapter is later, and just a bit shorter. It sucks, but this fanfic (among others) has given me tendonitis - now I'm typing with my hand in a brace, and if my genes are anything to go by, it might never really go away. I hope you guys enjoy the chapter, and I hope you're feeling the tension, because things are coming to a head XD  
Thanks to all of you reading, because seriously, you encourage me so much._


	27. And he was still searching

Lying in bed, half his mind elsewhere, Al told himself Ed would have approved. Maybe 'approval' was a bit too strong, though, and he amended it to 'understood'. Yes, Ed might not have approved of what he was doing, but he certainly would understand, which was almost as good.

Still, though, he felt rather guilty, because maybe what he was doing was worse than the stuff people always talked about _Ed_ doing. Oh, not the _big_ stuff like Human Transmutation, which was pretty darn bad, but all the little things. Like the times Ed bent the law in order to do what he thought was right, to help out other people. He shifted slightly on the bed to get the last rays of the setting sun out of his eyes. The effort was far greater than it would normally be, because his body felt so terribly far away from his consciousness.

Or maybe, he thought, it was simply that his brother had some strange, magical sort of luck which allowed him to go on a rampage, leave a swath of destruction in his wake, and yet still emerge a hero at the end of the day. Even the mysterious, dark goings-on at Lior hadn't been enough to sully his brother's reputation as Alchemist for the People.

If what Al was doing was just a little more self-serving than the stories people told about Ed – well, it _wasn't_. Because his goal was bringing his brother back, which would make things better for everyone in the long run.

Also, he rationalized, all he was doing was making information that should have been offered him _anyway_ available. It wasn't his fault that They – the amorphous group of people who just wanted him to live his life and stop _reminding _them all the time that Ed was dead (as They claimed, even though Al knew this to be patently wrong) – refused to volunteer the information.

These thoughts flickered slowly through the part of his mind that lay in bed, processing knowledge. The rest of his mind – or soul, or a combination of both – was downstairs, occupying a teapot on the table, and overhearing every word of the conversation They would never have when he was around.

It wasn't the first time he had pulled the stunt; he practically had it down to an art.

When Russell and Fletcher Tringham had come to visit Winry in her Rush Valley workshop, Al had been overjoyed at the opportunity to pump them for more information.

That evening, wearing his normal outfit of black-and-red which Rose had tentatively tried to convince him to put aside for dinner, Al cheerily started asking Russell about Ed, where they had met, when was the last time he had seen him.

Oh, he knew a little bit of the story– something involving Red Water, which had been mentioned in one of the casefiles Mustang had "accidentally" let him see, and a newspaper clipping about the time the Tringhams had been jailed for impersonating him and Ed, but he knew there was more to the story.

Conversation at the table had stopped abruptly, and Russell had looked uncomfortable, just like Al had known he would.

"I, uh," Russell had hemmed, looking to Winry for help. Al got the message loud and clear: he had gotten instructions about what he wasn't supposed to talk about. Anger boiled through him, and made Al crank up the innocent smile another notch.

Winry had looked helpless for a moment, and Fletcher just looked sadly down at the table.

Hating conflict, Garfiel suddenly stood up, making some excuse about bringing another pitcher of water that didn't fool anybody.

"Al!" Rose said softly, looking reproachfully at him. He knew that she blamed herself for his behavior, because she had been the first to crack the wall of silence. He ignored her.

"I just wanted to know about him," Al had said faux-innocently.

Winry snapped before Russell was forced onto the spot.

"You know this goes _far_ beyond just 'wanting to know'!" she had practically shouted. Pausing, her breath coming heavily, she had made a visible attempt to get herself under control. In a more pleading tone, she continued, "Can't we just have a nice meal? Russell and Fletcher didn't come here to be interrogated."

Time to play the pity card, Al thought, and looked down at the table, using his bangs to hide his eyes. "It's not fair," he had growled. "He's gone, but at least you have memories of him! I don't even have that!" When he looked up, the tears at the corners of his eyes were unfeigned. "And you won't help me look for him!"

By then both Russell and Fletcher had started looking like they really wished they could be anywhere else.

Then Russell had spoken, his voice low. Winry turned to him, a look of disappointment flitting across her face.

"Don't you think that if he was coming back, he would have already?" he had said, and that fused so perfectly with Al's secret fears that it robbed him of breath. Russell looked up, eyes intense beneath the bangs that partially obscured his face.

Overcoming the terror that had washed through him, Al forced himself to meet Russell's eyes squarely. "And maybe he can't do it alone." His voice turned accusing, flinging it at the room at large. "Maybe if people didn't always _expect_ him to do everything himself, it wouldn't have ended like this!"

The most brutal of attacks came unexpectedly, when Russell dared say what nobody else ever had. "You're his brother. _You_ tell _me_ why he was alone that day."

"Russell!" Winry shouted, torn between trying to look worriedly at Al and furious at Russell. The table exploded with angry words just this side of controlled, and Al had just let it wash over him, still frozen.

It couldn't have been his fault all along, could it? Had something horrible happened to Ed because he hadn't been there when his brother needed him the most? Because, at the moment of truth, he had failed?

The only solution was to counterattack, because even now, he _had_ to salvage the situation. Information was the most important thing. Wallowing in guilt wouldn't get him any closer to finding Ed.

"_I DON'T REMEMBER!_" he had shouted, standing up, his hands clenched together. Partly for support, to keep them from shaking, and partly because with his gloves off, nobody would suspect him capable of performing alchemy. "If you all would just _tell_ me what happened to him, maybe I could figure it out!"

All eyes were on him, now, and he dimly registered Rose's pain, Russell's guilt, the emotion practically radiating from Fletcher's eyes (_he_ understood, and maybe if Al wasn't so busy trying to find Ed, they could have been friends), and Winry's strange bitterness. He wondered if she blamed him.

"I'm not deluded, and I'm not an idiot!" The _knowledge_ clicked in his mind, and he knew he had to do the transmutation quickly, before it faded again. Pulling his hands apart he waved them around, slamming one hand down on a metal teapot sitting on the table, at the same time he shouted, "_Who do you think you're fooling? Who do you think is too much of a child to hear the truth?_" in an intentional paraphrasing of one of Edward's infamous rants.

At the same time he _pushed_ part of his soul into the teapot, using the strange ability he had discovered by accident, and had stormed off to his room, where he lay down on the bed and composed himself.

With part of his mind downstairs, he could "hear" the inevitable ripples caused by his departure. When the conversation downstairs began with a shaky observation by Fletcher "how like Edward he was becoming", Al wanted to crow in victory.

Then the conversation had become uncomfortable, as Winry said shakily that she didn't know what to do with him anymore, that he was pushing everybody away, and he was so _different_ from how he used to be; Al had always been the quiet one, the rational one, yet now...

And they were off, reminiscing about Ed while Al listened, though he started feeling rather guilty when Russell spoke. "I can't help but remember that _I_ was the one who gave him the information that led him down," he said tightly.

"You could hardly have known what would happen," Winry replied wearily, and in the background, Fletcher made comforting noises.

"You don't understand!" Russell almost exploded. "Maybe if I hadn't told him where that damn temple was, he wouldn't have gone down there. Do you know what it's like to think that maybe you're the one who offed a national hero?"

The silence was deafening, and Russell continued, his voice oddly choked. "And everywhere I go, whenever something happens, it's practically an idiom. 'Too bad Fullmetal ain't here to fix it, eh?'" he mimicked, deepening his tone and thickening his accent. "And the other one," he continued, but then his voice trailed off.

"'Gone like Fullmetal'" Winry filled in softly.

They all fell into an oppressive silence, and upstairs on the bed Al could feel his breath catching. He had heard that line as well, and had to restrain himself from getting violent each time. He _hated_ that turn of phrase, but he had sworn to eradicate it. Uncomfortable as the evening had been, it had provided him with a new direction.

His assumption had been correct; Russell _had_ been one of the last people to see his brother before his disappearance, and Al had his next destination: an abandoned place of worship in the middle of Central, and corroboration of Rose's irregular memories of _something_ beneath the city.

Everything would change once Ed returned, Al promised himself. Then he could return to just _living_, then he could mend the rift between him and Them – though he could never forget what They had done. Oh, he would never tell Ed that he had been given up for lost, and everybody had tried to forget him; such knowledge would hurt his brother too much, and anyway, he was slowly remedying the situation. And he would never tell his brother – or even admit to himself, because it _just wasn't true_ – that sometimes he doubted, and wondered.

He pushed the thoughts away.

At least now, though, he had a direction. In a few days – not immediately, so they wouldn't suspect his sudden desire to go to Central had anything to do with the Tringhams – he would buy some train tickets.

The alchemy was slowly wearing off, the sounds of the voices downstairs fading from inside his head as the bed became more real beneath him.

He had an even better idea, now: He would make a call to Mustang and ask for a supposedly-unsolicited invitation, which would certainly throw Winry off his trail. She was already getting suspicious of just _how_ he was ferreting out all his information.

Not that he would _ever_ suspect her of going through his files about his brother, but... well, he still kept everything securely in code. Just in case.

Because it definitely wouldn't do for the military to get wind of his brother's whereabouts before he did.

Yes, Mustang would be an excellent idea; the man was just sad enough and still guilty over Edward's "death", hoping against hope that Al would succeed, to help him with this deception. And Al knew just which buttons to push.

* * *

He had visited General Mustang so often it was practically routine by now. Though the general did nothing to hide the fact that Al was often over, he also didn't go out of his way to broadcast how close he was with the brother of the vanished Fullmetal Alchemist.

Earlier, Al had tried to give him advance warning of when he would be arriving, but the general hadn't been in, and he hadn't wanted to leave a message with a secretary. Too often General Mustang cautioned him about leaving too many visible tracks, though often in the same breath, he would warn Al not to go out of his way to be secretive, because that would arouse suspicion.

Really, sometimes Al wasn't sure what to make of all the conflicting messages.

Raising a hand, he knocked on the solid oak door. It took several tries, but on the third set the door was pulled open by Mustang, who first looked startled, then pleased to see him. The man had evidently been home for some time, because he was wearing an untucked worn shirt, half unbuttoned.

"I did say that I was coming today, right?" Al asked a bit uncertainly as he entered.

"Oh, yes," Mustang made a visible effort to push away his distraction. "It has been a tiring week, that's all. Please come in."

Having visited so many times before, Al didn't have to ask where to put his stuff. He simply walked along the corridor to the guest room, where the bed was already made up with "his" sheets, and tossed his pack on the floor by it. As always, he made a mental note of the exact positioning of the folds of cloth, and was fairly confident that it would be extremely difficult to tamper with. The path leading to his brother was _his_, and he wouldn't let anybody else follow, or get the jump on him.

His resolve to keep the information secret was tried as, at dinner, Mustang did his utmost to worm details of Al's search from him. Sometimes Al wondered what was more difficult, the others' insistence on pretending that Al wasn't up to anything, or Mustang's insatiable desire to know _everything_.

"I haven't _found_ anything yet," he finally said in frustration. "I don't _have_ any real leads, I don't _know_!"

Mustang was silent, his one eye focused on Al worriedly. Then he looked away and said wryly, "I assumed you were here on a lead. You aren't normally one for social calls." A familiar wistful tone was in his voice, and Al realized that in this, too, he was following in Ed's footsteps.

He made a mental note to review the file on his brother's and Mustang's relationship – the discrepancy between how they viewed each other seemed to be quite pronounced. Lost in his musings, it never occurred to him to feel guilty.

"It's not really a lead so much as an idea," Al said, looking down at the table. "He vanished somewhere in Central, didn't he? I want to look around, maybe I've been missing something important."

There was a faint clatter, and Al looked up to see that Mustang's fork was resting limply on his plate, and there was a carefully blank expression on the general's face.

"Central is not the most safe of cities for you to be touring," he said. "I would advise against going alone."

Al bit back the flat 'no' that nearly escaped him, and forced himself to think. He managed to grin, and tried to look as innocent as possible. "Oh please, it's not like I can't handle myself!" He looked away from Mustang's unreadable glance, uncomfortable but doing his best to hide it. "I'll be home tomorrow evening, I'll tell you if I find anything." Not that he _would_, of course.

Some invisible tension vanished, leaving Al rather confused, but Mustang wasn't giving him any clues.

Before he left the table, Mustang gave him the usual admonishment to be careful, and watch his back, because they were being watched. Not for the first time, Al wondered why Mustang stayed in Central, if he was so unwelcome, but this time actually asked.

A tired sort of smirk crossed Mustang's features. "Someone's got to stick around and clean things up for your brother when he returns, no?"

Filled with renewed determination, Al closed himself in his room and set about to scrutinize the maps of Central he had bought. With a ruler, he divided the city into a carefully plotted grid, which if he followed carefully, would allow him to cover pretty much all of Central in about two and a half weeks, optimistically.

His heart sank a bit, looking at the huge area he would have to cover, and wavered. Taking up Mustang's offer for a companion wouldn't be so awful, would it...?

No, he thought decisively. Ed had done everything _himself_, and Al had been his only help. When his brother returned, _he_ would be Al's companion, and no other.

* * *

Wandering the city alone was about as tedious and lonely as Al had secretly expected it to be. After the first few days Mustang had given up on receiving any hints about what exactly Al was looking for, and Al was very careful not to offer any information. Contrary to Mustang's fears, he didn't think he was being tailed by anybody, though it was hard to know. In Central, Ed had been especially well known, and murmurs followed him around almost anywhere he went. He was starting to pick up on Mustang's hidden fears, which probably had something to do with Al following so closely in Ed's last footsteps. Inwardly, Al scoffed a bit. He would hardly _vanish, _even if Ed had –

The thought made Al choke up a bit, and he hurried out, trying to keep calm. Ed wouldn't have vanished for no reason, and anyway, whatever danger he had encountered was surely long gone.

Malformed fantasies of his brother's corpse persisted in taking root in his mind, but Al pushed them away. The temple _couldn't_ be the end, because Rose reported hazy memories of Ed which Al was sure were from after Russell had last seen him.

Despite what he had overheard, finding the temple Russell had mentioned proved a bit more difficult than he had thought. He wandered the city, making his way to the older, dirtier, broken-down sections of it, searching for clues. Always, he kept an ear out for what people said when they saw him, and felt a stab of pride in his brother every time his name was mentioned.

And yet, and yet... doubt whispered in his mind. His brother was the great Fullmetal Alchemist, a legend in his own lifetime. To hear people talk, there was nothing he couldn't do.

But if so, where was he? And if he was so lost, so far away that he could find a way home, how was _Al_ supposed to manage? He paused, glancing for a moment at his imperfect hands, then clenched them into fists. Rose had told him what Ed had said to her, and that applied now, too; he had two hands, and two feet to walk on. He would persevere.

As the days passed, more and more area was marked off on the map as having been covered, with no success. The temple was _somewhere_ in Central, that was for sure, and Al comforted himself with the knowledge that he was bound to stumble on it eventually.

_Persevere_, he reminded himself. These small challenges he had to face were nothing compared to what Ed had done. Unlike Ed, he wasn't beholden to the military, didn't have serial killers after his blood, and wasn't driven practically to irrationality by guilt (_wasn't he?_).

He'd been searching for more than three years now, he thought. According to the information he had collected, in three years Ed had managed to perform Human Transmutation three times, become famous practically country-wide, and acquire the legendary Philosopher's Stone. What had _he_ accomplished these three years, but reconstructing the incomplete puzzle of his brother's life, and fruitless searching?

Disappointed in himself but refusing to show it, he would make cheerful small-talk at dinner, and then excuse himself to bed. Exhausted from the day's efforts he fell asleep in no time. His last conscious thought was, more often than not, a vague hope for a dream of his brother to set him on the right path, but all his dreams that night were vague, filled with formless fear, and the nervous, niggling feeling that time was running out.

He woke on the Tuesday of the second week of searching full of lingering anxiousness, and applied himself to his task with greater energy. Even so, it took him four more days of searching before he found a likely candidate.

The temple was old and run-down, with dust motes dancing in shafts of light from the broken stained-glass windows. Every footstep echoed strangely as Al walked between rows of pews and up to a large, squarish altar. It seemed just as old as the rest of the building, but when Al looked close, he could detect signs of alchemic tampering – and he had the suspicion that at least one of the signatures was his brother's. Small ripples ran through the stone, the residue of a sloppy or careless transmutation, but their very delicacy hinted at great skill. Ed was such a capable alchemist that even his most thoughtless, offhand transmutations were works of art in terms of technique.

Circling around the altar, Al concluded that all the signs of transmutation were focused around one side of it, which meant that he should probably open it up to see what happened. Still, he would have to be careful; there was no knowing what might happen if he tried to transmute it, so he spent a fair amount of time investigating the area as much as he could to eliminate unpleasant surprises.

One of those surprises walked up behind him, footsteps uneven and rasping on the stone floor.

"What are you doing here?"

Al jumped around, startled. "Wrath!" he managed, trying to quiet his heart. Wrath looked at him with the half-sullen half-bitterly amused expression he seemed to wear more often than not, and failed to volunteer any information. Nobody had ever said anything outright, but Al was pretty certain that Wrath was a homunculus, even though he didn't know where he had come from, or who made him. Homunculi had been mentioned in one of his father's old books, and Al really couldn't think of anything else Wrath might be; he certainly wasn't human.

"Don't sneak up on me," he scolded reflexively, knowing it was wasted on Wrath.

"I wasn't sneaking. You're just oblivious." Wrath walked past him a bit, closer to the altar, and lay his automail hand on it contemplatively. He looked back at Al. "Are you looking for your _brother_?" The question was more of a rhetorical sneer.

"Yes, I am," Al said stoically. "I've been following-"

"I could have told you this," Wrath interrupted archly. "Yeah, he went down. But you're not going to find him down there."

Already accustomed to people's skepticism, Al refused to be ruffled. "I'll just go check for myself, if you don't mind. Maybe there will be a clue."

Wrath laughed. "Give up, Elric. He's long gone."

A jolt of pain lanced through Al at the words. What if this was just another dead end...? Then Wrath's words registered, and he looked at him sharply, trying to figure out what was going on behind those sharp features. "And where exactly has he gone?" Al asked quietly.

"Far beyond _your_ reach, alchemist."

A strange note was in Wrath's voice, making him sound almost... wistful?

"I don't care how far he is," Al said firmly. "I'm going to find him and bring him home."

"You can't." Now Wrath looked at him, anger building on his face. "Nobody can get back what the Gate takes."

_Taken_, not dead, _taken_. "Maybe _I_ can't," Al retorted, "but I'm not working alone. Brother – wherever he is – is working with me. Together we can do it."

Struck speechless, Wrath stared at him for a minute, and his counterattack came weaker. "What... you can't know that!"

"I've seen him," Al said, allowing no hint of doubt to creep into his voice. Hazy images of his brother flashed through his mind, memories of dreams where he sat by Ed's side, discussing strange theories with his dulled, sad, brother (who wasn't the brother of the person Ed was actually talking to, whose body Al had occupied). "I know he's trying to find his way back. That's why I can't ever give up."

"The Gate will never give you what you want!" Wrath suddenly shouted, turning to him, both fists clenched. "Don't you understand? You'll never win against it!" The homunculus sounded more like he was desperately trying to convince himself than Al.

The Gate. A tremor ran through Al at the words that seemed to resonate with some hidden knowledge inside of him, and when he spoke again it was more on instinct than planned discourse. "We already have," he said softly. "I'm alive, and human. And he's alive, even if he's far away. We won. All I have to do is help him find his way home."

Deliberately, he turned back to the altar and rested his hand against it.

"Wait!" Wrath suddenly grabbed his wrist, pulling his hand away from the stone, and Al looked at him, startled. "You don't need to go down there. You won't find anything."

Al would have been suspicious, but Wrath's tone had changed, so he opted to hear him out.

"Maybe it's true," the homunculus said softly, almost speaking to himself. "If anybody in the world can beat the Gate, it's you. You could go up against the Gate, and maybe get the damn thing to give you what you want, for a change." A slow smile spread over Wrath's face at the words, evidently finding the idea of one-upping the 'Gate', whatever it was, extremely pleasing.

"Why don't you tell me how to find this Gate?" Al prodded, just a bit offhandedly, so as not to scare him off.

Belatedly, Wrath let go of his wrist and looked at him again, seeming to suddenly see him in a new light. "Come on, I'll show you," he said, and started to hurry out of the temple. Al paused to make a mental note of the location, in case he ever needed to find it again, and followed him out.

"That Person's house should still be standing," Wrath said.

"That Person?"

An almost regretful, soft look flashed over the homunculus' face. "She was Izu- your teacher's teacher."

_Oh_. Eagerness warred with the pang he felt at the thought of going back to Dublith, knowing that Izumi would never greet him again.

"One condition," Wrath said, suddenly looking at him sharply, his purple eyes intent. "I want a favor in exchange for this. Swear to me you won't balk."

"Tell me what it is." Al was too prudent to make promises without knowing what he was agreeing to.

A frown crossed Wrath's features and he looked away. "We'll talk about it after you read about the Gate," he said, "and you can decide then." His expression transformed into an eerie grin, full of too-sharp teeth. "We'll see how like your brother you really are."

Deciding to leave it alone for now, Al filed away the cryptic statement to mull over later. Whatever this favor would be, he was confident he'd find a way to succeed in appeasing this Gate.

He hadn't lied to Wrath. He wasn't alone. And when he and Ed were working together, nothing would stop them.

Nothing in the world.

* * *

_**A/N:** First off, I want to apologize. I'm not terribly pleased with this chapter, and it was ridiculously difficult for me to write - and still ended up way shorter than the other chapters. I hope you guys didn't suffer too much, and the next few chapters should really be better. __Also, from now on you'll get faster updates, because my exams are over! I am now free to write as much as I want. _

_There's a new link on my profile, to Skilla's translation of the story into Finnish, and an awesome job she's doing (I'd better up the speed, otherwise she'll catch up to me...). Thanks so much!  
__  
And, as always, thanks to all of you reading, commenting, and those of you who speak to me under other circumstances and are forced to hear about this story probably more than you ever wanted XD. I love you all so much, and your encouragement is absolutely priceless._


	28. Overture to Glory

_I LIVE. Promise! And sorry it took so long, but you get one hell of a chapter this time! 17,000 words, 24 pages. ....wait! Come back, I swear it's not that long...._

_You can get reading now, but long chapter means long author's notes at the end, with some announcements. Bear with me._

* * *

Voices from downstairs made Alfons look up from his book. Edward was supposed to be returning, true, but who could he possibly have brought with him? Carefully marking the page, Alfons set the book down on the bed and wandered downstairs.

Deliveries of equipment shouldn't be arriving yet, he mused. Tomorrow they would be in the lab, and he was supposed to be getting some gems then – maybe Edward had preferred to have them delivered to their home?

Downstairs he found Edward and Jandry, who had just set down a large box he had been carrying. Edward thanked him, and Jandry bid him farewell, waved at Alfons, and exited.

"What's this?" Alfons went to stand by Edward, watching him unpack the carefully-sealed box. The apparatus components inside looked vaguely like chemistry tools, but several things stood out – like the needles.

"For the blood," Edward explained, setting up a stoppered glass jar with a tube leading out of it, traces of some chemicals at the bottom. Measurements were carefully marked down the side of the jar. Then Edward took off his shirt, extended his right arm, and handed Alfons the tourniquet.

Alfons knew what a tourniquet was for, but wasn't quite sure why Edward wanted it tied on now. He stood around holding it for a few minutes, until it became obvious that yes, Edward really did want it on, so he tied it gingerly around his upper arm.

Edward looked annoyed. "It's not tight enough."

"But..." Alfons protested instinctively, then sighed and retied the rubber strip until it looked almost like it was cutting into the skin. Edward grunted with satisfaction, then directed Alfons to connect the needle to the tube.

Laying his arm down on the table, Edward looked at him expectantly. "Well?"

Alfons looked at his arm blankly. "Well what?"

"You need to stick the needle in if you want the blood to come out," Edward explained mock-patiently.

"I don't know how to draw blood!" Alfons dropped the needle in his hand and backed away a few paces nervously.

"Ugh," Edward pressed his prosthetic fingers against his forehead and sighed. "Look, I can't do it myself!"

"There are these people that you can pay to do it for you," Alfons said, still eyeing the needle warily, as if it might jump off the table and attack him. "They're called 'doctors'."

Edward sighed in exasperation. "Would you like to be the one to explain to them why you need a liter of blood?"

Fine, so wanting a jar of blood wasn't exactly _normal_, but... but actually stabbing someone with a needle was just-

"Don't be a pussy, it's just a needle."

Courage returning a bit, spurred by Edward's slightly derisive tone as much as anything else, Alfons crept closer again. Pulling up a chair in front of Edward, he picked up the (abnormally _large_) needle uncertainly. "I don't want to hurt you...."

"See this?" Edward motioned at his chest sharply. "_This_ hurt. One tiny fucking needle is not going to damage me!"

"If you're sure..." Contrary to what Edward said, Alfons was pretty sure that if he so much as bruised him, he'd have Edward whining about it for the next month. Taking the needle carefully in his right hand, he leaned closer to inspect the inside of Edward's elbow. A blue vein was clearly visible, jutting out slightly from the flesh around it.

"Which direction am I supposed to put it in?"

"Up." Edward answered shortly, his voice strained. Startled, Alfons looked up to see that Edward looked sort of pale, and had his jaw clenched tightly.

"What's wrong?" he demanded, worried. It couldn't be him, he hadn't even poked him yet!

"I don't. Like. Needles," Edward hissed, looking away from him pointedly.

"You just said it's not a big deal!" Alfons protested, feeling betrayed.

"It's _not_," Edward ground out, his brows furrowed in annoyance. "Will you just stick it in already?"

"How am I supposed to stick you when you look like that?" Alfons retorted. "You're not making me any less nervous!" At this point his hand was shaking so badly that he was afraid to hold the needle anywhere near Edward.

"I just want to get this over with!" Edward waved his prosthetic arm around, his human one clenched tightly.

"And I don't want to get it wrong, this needle is huge!"

Edward flinched at the words, and closed his eyes tightly, shaking. "_Thank you _so much, Captain Obvious, I really needed to hear that right now. Makes me _so much_ calmer."

They sat there silently for a moment, bristling at each other, then Alfons looked back down at the proffered arm. He gulped. "So, uh, how far in should I push it?"

"Just enough to get blood out, not very deep," Edward said shakily, still looking away.

Gathering his courage, Alfons tried to stab. His first try was too tentative, and he just scratched Edward's skin, which made his lover flinch and curse when the needle poked him. His second try was a bit better, but he didn't quite seem to be catching the vein properly. Sweat dripped down his forehead, and he could hear Edward's slightly ragged breathing. A bruise was starting to from in the crook of Edward's elbow, small amounts of blood leaking out, and Alfons felt sort of sick.

He really didn't want to be involved in this, but Edward had asked _him_ because Edward trusted him more than anybody else. Swallowing hard, he steeled himself to try again, and this time succeeded – blood started flowing through the tube, dropping into the glass jar.

"Okay," he breathed, only now aware of the pounding of his own heart. "It's in. What do I do now?"

"Hold it," Edward answered distantly, his eyes closed, taking careful, regulated breaths. "When there's a liter in there, pull the needle out and put a bandage on."

After a few minutes of holding the needle Alfons' fingers were hurting from the strain, but he didn't dare move them. He kept one eye on the rising level of blood in the jar, and the other on Edward, who seemed fine at first, but as the jar filled grew steadily paler.

"Edward?" he asked.

"Nnn?" Edward roused himself a little, though his eyes were slightly unfocused, and his head listed a bit to the side. Suddenly it occurred to Alfons that he didn't know how much blood it was safe to take from a person at once, and that a liter was an _awfully_ large amount of liquid.

"Are you sure you want a whole liter? You don't look so good."

"Mm sure."

"This _is_ safe, right?" he prodded.

"Mm-hmm." Edward shifted a bit, scooting lower in his chair and resting his chin on his chest.

It was probably okay to trust Edward, Alfons rationalized. After all, he wouldn't put himself at risk now, they hadn't even completed the array yet!

Aeons later, the amount of dark-red blood in the jar reached the '1 liter' mark, and Alfons thankfully pulled the needle out. He wasn't quite fast enough with the bandage, and more blood than he was comfortable with leaked out, some dripping onto the kitchen table, before he got it securely fastened.

The fact that Edward was completely silent, barely bothering to move throughout the whole procedure only served to unnerve him further.

"Edward?" he asked worriedly, reaching up to run gentle fingers across the pasty skin of his face. "What should I do with the blood?"

Edward licked his lips and roused himself a bit, making a visible effort to be more alert. "Icebox," he said. Several vague hand motions instructed Alfons on how to seal the bottle, and he went and deposited it and its grisly contents in the icebox, looking incongruous and macabre alongside cuts of chicken and other assorted foods.

He straightened up and turned, pausing to regard the sallow-looking Edward. "I think you should lie down," he suggested, coming to stand next to his lover's chair, reaching out to support him with his hands.

Edward nodded a tired acquiescence, and Alfons carefully helped him up, trying not to think about how wilted he looked. Navigating Edward up the stairs would be a challenge neither of them was probably up to, especially given how lightheaded Edward seemed, so Alfons steered him towards the sofa.

Once Edward had slumped heavily to the cushions, Alfons pulled his feet up to peel off his socks, and then slid his feet up on the sofa as well. Edward watched the proceedings bemusedly through half-lidded eyes, mere slits of gold visible beneath his lashes, vivid against his gray-tinged cheeks.

"Do you want to drink something? Tea?" he asked anxiously, and hurried off to prepare it the moment Edward nodded. In an effort to get Edward to perk up a bit, he put in a generous dollop of honey instead of the usual sugar, and added some cold water so it would be immediately drinkable.

It was clear that Edward's hands were shaking too badly to keep from spilling the tea, so Alfons steadied the mug for him, and helped him take small sips. A knot of tension he had barely been aware of released as he saw a hint of color return to Edward's cheeks, and Edward gave him a small, but grateful, smile. Though the fact that Edward was accepting the help so easily was a sign of how badly off he must be.

Setting the mug down on the table, Alfons leaned close, hugging Edward as tightly as he dared, and brushed a kiss across his lips. They felt sort of clammy, like the rest of Edward's skin, but moved slightly against his own.

"I don't think this was a good idea," Alfons murmured, pressing his cheek to the base of Edward's neck, feeling the pulse under his lips "It was too much blood. You look horrible." Whenever Edward was hurt, it seemed to always bring out his clingy side. Living so long in the shadow of death by tuberculosis had made him sensitive to how easily things could be lost, and how much life should be cherished.

"I'm fine," Edward said, and made to bring his hand to stroke Alfons' hair, but aborted the gesture. "I don't want to keep you from your work."

Stupid man. Alfons lifted his head to stare flatly at Edward, who shot him a sheepish smile. Coming to a decision, he pushed himself up and got to his feet. "You wait right there," he told Edward, and ran off to get his notes.

His lover rolled his eyes, and Alfons could just hear him muttering sarcastically about maybe dancing a polka around the block to burn of all that excess energy he had, which brought a grin to the German's lips. If he was capable of complaining already, he would be okay.

Gathering up some of his notes and his book, Alfons returned to the living room and sat down on the edge of the sofa.

"Budge over," he instructed. With some shifting around, Alfons managed to make himself comfortable, leaning his back across Edward's stomach. There was the requisite amount of grumbling from Edward about Alfons' supposed 'weird dependency issues', but he didn't really struggle, and seemed quite pleased that the end result put Alfons' hair within easy touching distance.

For a while Edward dozed as Alfons read, his human fingers, tangled gently in the nape of Alfons' neck. Later in the afternoon, when Edward showed signs of recuperation (expressed by growing boredom), Alfons read aloud to him, secretly just enjoying the easy closeness it seemed like they hadn't had in a while.

For dinner, Alfons put in the effort to make flapjacks, because the only hard part was the frying, and Edward liked them. And they had lots of honey. They came out only a _little_ burnt, but Edward made sure to point this out, much to Alfons' annoyance. As if _Edward_ had never overcooked a meal....

"Think you'll be okay by tomorrow?" Alfons asked while doing the dishes. Edward had volunteered to help, but Alfons preferred to have him rest a bit longer.

Edward snorted. "'Course I'll be okay. Got to keep building that array."

* * *

The next morning dawned cold and clear, and Alfons was pleased to see that Edward looked quite a bit steadier on his feet, and his color was better. Not that that stopped him from plying Edward with food at every opportunity, until eventually Edward exploded at him.

"You know, stuffing my face isn't going to help me replenish by blood supply!" he said, waving his arms, albeit with less enthusiasm than normal. "I need iron. If you want to feed me, give me steak, which will actually do some good. And while you're at it, there should be a thing of pills with all the stuff from yesterday. Could you bring it over here?"

"Pills?" Alfons asked, throat closing up, and he scurried off to get them. "What's wrong with you?"

Edward quickly unscrewed the bottle and knocked back two of them, grimacing at the aftertaste. "Iron supplements," he said. "I need to build up my blood supply again if I'm going to be drawing more blood, soon."

"How soon is soon?" Alfons asked worriedly as they bundled up to leave for their lab.

"A month," Edward said, his mouth twisting in irritation. Evidently this wasn't nearly soon enough for his comfort, though to Alfons it sounded like a frighteningly short amount of time.

Returning to the lab after such a long absence was a relief, Alfons thought. He had missed the place, though it would never take the place in his heart reserved for rocket labs. The familiar rhythm of work returned to them quickly, and within a few short hours Alfons was engrossed in his molts again, and Edward's voice could be heard rhythmically calling out orders to the men, interspersed with occasional curses when he felt they weren't moving fast enough. Edward's only concession to the previous day was sitting on a conveniently-situated chair, rather than pacing about as usual.

A break was called right before noon, because Edward decided he wanted to start using the second molt – which meant it was time to name it.

Since Edward was the one working with the molts now, everybody turned to him expectantly to see what he would suggest.

Puffing up his chest a bit, Edward made his announcement. "Beelzebub."

There was a rather shocked silence, and Edward looked around, rather disappointed. "What?"

As one, the men turned to Alfons, who cleared his throat. "That's not a girl's name," he managed, unable to really come up with anything that _wouldn't_ turn into an argument. Did Edward not realize what a terrible, horrible omen naming something Beelz- he could barely stand to _think_ the name-!

Edward's expression turned slightly pouty. "Brunhilda, then."

...Or maybe he didn't realize it.

"Uh," Alfons stammered, trying to figure out a more pleasant way to say "how about _not_".

"Barbie?" Jacobs suddenly offered, and his suggestion was greeted with great relief all around. Edward gave an ungracious consent to the name, but could be heard muttering darkly that Brunhilda was a name with _so much _more personality than _Barbie_.

* * *

Within a few days, Edward was pretty much back to his usual self, to Alfons' relief, though there was a strange persisting clinginess about him. For example, Alfons was pretty sure that Edward had agreed so eagerly to come with him to the first post-exam hang-out with his friends out of some misplaced fear about letting Alfons out of his sight. While everybody traded stories (though Alfons didn't participate in the swapping of exam horrors) and told jokes, a general air of relief around them lending just a hint of over-enthusiasm to the laughter, Edward mostly sat quietly on the side, allowing the conversation to wash over him.

Then talk turned to money problems, and Alfons listened sort of uncomfortably as Cain talked about helping out in his family's grocery during the vacation to save up for another semester, and Frank gave the details of his search for a lab that would employ him part-time.

"What about you guys?" Zolf asked, looking from Edward to Alfons.

"We still have job at our lab," Alfons said uncertainly. He sincerely hoped Frank wouldn't ask about the possibility of joining in, because there was no chance they could allow somebody who actually understood science to see what they were doing. "Michaels pays us well."

"Still doing those experiments of yours?" Russell inquired, and Alfons wanted to groan. Constantly rebuffing questions prying into their research was getting tiring.

"Yeah," Edward spoke up, and Alfons sighed in relief. Let Edward deal with it.

"And?" Russell prodded.

"And what?"

Nobody could play dense like Edward.

"Oh, come on," Winifred cajoled. "We'll hardly steal your research!"

"Well," Edward drawled, dragging out the word, a smirk appearing on his face, and Alfons suddenly had a very bad feeling about 'letting Edward deal with it'.

With a broad smile, Edward announced, "We're researching the use of electromagnetic waves in rituals to raise the Devil."

With a sigh, Alfons covered his face with his hands, very much _not_ wanting to see the faces of his friends as they struggled with the fabrication.

Zolf snorted. "I don't know why you think electromagnetic waves would be any use at all. What's wrong with using blood? It's very traditional."

_What?_

"We're in the _twentieth century_," Edward answered archly, not missing a beat. "Using blood seems unnecessarily messy." The irony of Edward making that claim was not lost on Alfons.

"It's a time-proven technique," Zolf insisted stubbornly. "Worked for Faust just fine."

"What's the point of developing science if we can't come up with better options than what was used hundreds of years ago?" Edward retorted. "Electromagnetism is very nice, I don't see why the Devil wouldn't like it."

"I think," Cain piped up, pushing his glasses up on his nose, "a better use of time would be trying to isolate what in blood makes the summoning work, and _then_ try to branch out. Look." Pulling a paper napkin over, he started writing out the chemical components of blood, and pretty soon Edward and Zolf had sat down on either side of him, and the three were arguing over the advantages of red blood cells versus plasma.

The ones uninterested in summoning demons eventually started a new conversation, but Alfons couldn't help but think about how Edward was participating actively, and had found ways to connect with other people here, even if on the shallowest level. If things went wrong... maybe Edward could still be happy here, in a way.

On the way home, when Edward was looking just a bit more cheerful than Alfons was used to seeing him and chattering animatedly about the conclusions they had reached, Alfons allowed himself to hope.

"They had some good ideas," Edward suddenly said, sobering. "I might be able to build the array with less blood than I thought I needed, if those theories pan out."

Or maybe not.

* * *

On Christmas Eve he went to church. Edward knew he was going, and thought the whole business was rather silly (though he liked the lights), but didn't make a fuss, for which Alfons was grateful. He didn't know if this would be the last Christmas he ever celebrated, because though Edward had mentioned some large religion or other existing in his world, Alfons didn't know if it would even be similar, and Edward had been vague on the details.

For the first time since he had discovered that he wasn't dying of tuberculosis, he felt that he truly had something to ask of God, closed his eyes, and prayed for success.

It was very late, practically morning when he got home, but Edward was waiting up for him and greeted him rather enthusiastically at the door. Alfons found himself pressed against the wall, with Edward trailing kisses over his neck and collarbone, and fumbling with his shirt.

"H-hey," he managed, and on the third try successfully caught Edward's wandering hand. Somehow, on Christmas Eve, just having come from asking God to be merciful, it seemed _wrong_.

Edward looked up at him, sort of confused, but with a tinge of worry on his face.

Kissing him chastely, Alfons said softly, "Not tonight, okay?" To show that he wasn't rejecting Edward, he drew him back to their room, curling up with him persistently. Edward finally sighed, kissed Alfons one last time, and fell into a quiet slumber.

Since nobody worked Christmas day, they hadn't gone into the lab, figuring there wasn't really much they could do with just the two of them. So they lounged around in bed, talking of inconsequential things, though Edward kept getting distracted and casting longing looks towards his notes. Sure, Alfons could take a hint, but he didn't really feel like surrendering Edward since it seemed they hardly got to spend time together without the molts hanging over their heads.

The jangle of the phone interrupted them around noon, and Edward practically sprinted to get it. Alfons listened to his rising intonation, then excitement in his voice, and went to see what had happened.

In the living room, he found Edward running around excitedly, pulling on clothes.

"What happened?" he asked.

"Gottlieb called," Edward said, donning two pairs of socks. "He said that since he's not Christian, he doesn't mind working, if we want him to go in, and that Jacobs can also come." There was a tight grin on his face. "I'm going to get some hours in, see if I can't finish up that infinity curve with Barbie."

Alfons watched him pull his boots on. "But what can I do? If only the two of them can come, you need them both."

"Oh," Edward hesitated. "You... wouldn't mind if I go, then, right?"

You were supposed to spend Christmas with the family, but Alfons nodded anyway, and told Edward he could go. The sooner they finished up the array, the sooner they could relax, right?

With the house empty and nothing much to do, Alfons decided he might as well review something or other, just so he felt like he was gainfully employed. The white paper lay before him, empty as his mind, and he couldn't focus. Almost without volition, he found himself drawing the shape of a rocket streaking through the sky – not a schematic, but a childish outline, little stars surrounding it. Equations scampered through his mind, of nozzles and fuel ratios, and he suddenly missed the days of rocketry with a sharp ache. Rocketry had been his passion.

Beneath the rocket he drew a hill, with two stick figures standing on it, one of whom had long hair. Then, embarrassed and cursing himself for a sentimental fool, he crumpled the paper and tossed it aside. Wondering whether or not the stars in Edward's world would be familiar enough would serve no purpose, and being homesick before he had even left was just stupid.

* * *

Charlotte was up and running the week after, still red because Alfons hadn't yet managed to make the molt beams multicolored, though he was beginning to have promising results with sapphires. It was strange, because when the second semester started, he was forcibly reminded of the courses he failed, but he realized that it didn't matter. Nothing had changed between him and Edward as a result of those failures, and in terms of the molts he was doing just fine. Finishing them up was more important than getting homework done, anyway. Even Edward was slacking off, though he continued to do his calculus homework religiously, as if afraid of disappointing Professor Alder.

"Bank statements," Edward announced, dropping a pile of stuff in front of Alfons for him to sign. Because their accounts were separate they split all expenses between them. Alfons mostly let Edward deal with the money, because he seemed to like it, and every so often would get a pile of forms he needed to sign. Skimming over each one, he didn't really bother reading them, because he trusted Edward. Until, that is, he came to a form with a lot more text than usual, which didn't look familiar. "What's this?"

"Ah!" Edward looked nervous. "Just a transfer authorization, that's all. You don't need to sign that one."

Edward's too-jovial tone made Alfons suspicious, and he looked closer, trying to make his way through the complicated English. This definitely wasn't a normal transfer, because this one had a whole bunch of unfamiliar signatures at the bottom. He hunched his shoulders over, trying to keep Edward from snatching the paper away from him.

"Give it to me!" Edward said desperately, "it was in the wrong pile, you don't have anything to do with it."

The language was difficult, but Alfons was starting to get the gist of what it was about. "This is a _will_," he snarled, whirling to look at his lover.

"It's not _technically_ a will," Edward mumbled. "See, it doesn't say "last will and testament" on top."

"Semantics," Alfons snapped, looking back down at the horrible paper, which suddenly made everything in his life seem more tenuous.

"It's just in case something happens," Edward said in a small voice, trying to be placating. "I don't want my share of the gold mine to go back to Michaels. Not that anything will _actually_ happen to me, of course." He tried to laugh it off.

Alfons would have felt just a bit better about it if Edward had bothered telling him in advance. Now that he knew what it was, he could pick out individual clauses, though there weren't many. Edward pretty much left everything he owned to Alfons in the case of his disappearance, no questions asked. The amount of trust documented on one small slip of paper awed him; some people would kill over a quarter of a gold mine.

Unnerved by the silence, Edward kept babbling, trying to compensate. "Geez, Alfons, don't look like that, it's just... I have to know that no matter what you'll be provided for..."

Alfons raised incredulous eyes to Edward's. "Edward, I own an _equal share_. If we weren't building the molts I'd be filthy rich. I'm hardly lacking in money." He thought of how, despite the fact that Edward had found the gold mine pretty much without Alfons' direct help, he had cheerfully signed off half of his share to Alfons without a second thought.

"I know..." Edward chewed a thumbnail nervously, then pulled up a chair and sat down next to Alfons. "Look, it's stupid, okay? I just want to make sure you'll be fine."

Edward looked so earnest and worried, leaning forward slightly in the chair, his blond hair mussed. Alfons regarded him coolly. "Okay, then." He folded the paper, and handed it back to a relieved Edward. "How about I write a will also, in that case?"

"No!" Edward exploded, sounding panicky. "You don't have to do that! It's not like anything will _happen_ to you, you're going to be perfectly safe, I promise! You won't be in any danger at all-"

"And you will?" Alfons interrupted sharply.

"Of, of course-" Edward floundered, clearly at war with himself, and some part of Alfons that was just floating there dispassionately above the howling terror raging through his mind noted that this was how Edward looked when he was trying to lie to him.

"I mean," Edward said, waving his arms dismissively, "not _danger_ danger. Not _really_. Nobody can really prove anything, anyway. It's nothing..." With visible effort, Edward schooled his expression into something approximating a smile that did nothing to reassure Alfons.

"Edward," he said softly, "what danger are you talking about?" Beyond the obvious, of course, but none of the obvious danger had had Edward running to get a will written.

His lover tried to laugh it off. "It's just standard when working with complicated arrays," he said, "nothing to seriously worry about. But sometimes a rebound happens, when you're working with a lot of energy..."

Alfons shot him a withering look. "Please elaborate."

Fidgeting, Edward made what appeared to be a bizarre attempt to look cute, in the hopes that it would get Alfons to let up on him. It did nothing to quench Alfons' anger that Edward would hide something like this from him, but seeing Edward make such an expression nearly brought an unwitting smile to his lips.

Edward gave up, and returned to looking plain old pitiful. "A rebound in alchemy is like a backlash, it usually happens when a person either tries to activate an array they don't have enough power for, an array that's too complicated for them to control, or when they panic in the middle and lose focus. Then the energy rebounds on the alchemist."

"And if that happens, what happens to us?"

Edward's head jerked up. "No, no, no!" he protested. "You'll be absolutely safe, I promise you! And anyway, I'm going to be fine, too." He forced a grin. "I'll definitely have enough energy for this. I'm not some lame two-bit alchemist that tries to work an array too powerful for them. And I'm not afraid." He sounded supremely confident, and Alfons wondered how much was a show, and how much of the show was to convince himself.

"I still think I should get one of these too," he motioned at the document still clutched in Edward's hands.

"You don't _need_ to!" Edward shot back, looking worried again.

"And you do?"

"Yes!"

"Why you and not me?"

"Because," Edward floundered, "because God hates me, okay? I _know_ something will go wrong, but no matter what, I'll keep you safe this time."

_You never failed to keep _me_ safe, _Alfons didn't say. "God doesn't hate you," he said.

Edward's shoulders slumped. "If there _is_ one, he definitely hates me."

"You know what?" Alfons snapped, "God likes me, and I like you, so everything's going to be fine."

"You can't know that," Edward answered mournfully, running a distracted hand through his hair.

"Yeah, I do. Look at the whole worm business – I _could_ have had consumption, but I didn't, right?"

"I... I guess..." Edward was starting to look hopeful, and Alfons couldn't take it anymore. He leaned over and pulled Edward into his arms, hugging as tightly as he could.

"Stop panicking," he whispered into Edward's hair. "Things are going to work out this time, you'll see."

"I hope so," Edward said very, very quietly.

Later that evening, Alfons caught Edward filing the will away in a safe place, pretended he hadn't seen, and ignored the sick feeling in his stomach that something would go terribly wrong.

* * *

Two weeks later, and Deirdre joined the ranks of molts on the scaffolding. Reality was starting to sink in, as every time Alfons came by the lab, he was struck anew by how otherworldly it looked. The molts looked like some sort of futuristic weapon, and in the center of the room the array glowed ethereally like a spectre. During certain hours it was completely invisible, only to swim into smoky view when Edward turned on the steam machine. To Alfons, the array looked like a jumble of faintly glowing intersecting lines, with no rhyme or reason; it looked nothing like the diagrams Edward routinely referenced.

He asked Edward about this, and as a result, Edward kept him late one night to show him.

They left most of the lights off, with only a few brightening the gloom.

"Come here," Edward said, and led him right up to the platform above which the array hovered. Alfons hesitated slightly, uncomfortable about trespassing on what was so obviously Edward's territory. Edward turned back and raised an eyebrow at him, so Alfons overcame the strangeness, and climbed up beside his lover.

"Here," Edward's voice echoed, and he directed Alfons' attention to a sketch in his hands. "See this?" His fingers traced a six-sided star which was part of the upper hemisphere of the array.

It was easy enough to understand the sketch, but when he looked up at the criss-crossing lines of light above them he couldn't make heads or tails of it.

"I don't..." He tilted his head and squinted, trying to figure out the lines.

"You're looking too hard," Edward said, resting a hand on his arm. "Unfocus your eyes a bit, then look up, and you'll see it."

Obediently, Alfons looked away, then looked up again, carefully not focusing on any one detail. The image swam a bit, then a pattern snapped into place as all the conflicting lines and intersections suddenly made perfect sense.

"Oh," he said, following the lines of the star, which he now saw was incomplete, and connected to several other incomplete shapes straggling down from the arches of the array. It was like looking up into the heavens, and suddenly understanding how everything fit together perfectly. Constructing the array, he saw, was far more complicated than just assembling the parts, because the array was so much _more_. Each individual molt beam looped around dozens of times, simultaneously an integral part of several different shapes.

He wondered at the kind of mind Edward must have, to be able to construct this sort of thing.

"I fucked up that angle over there," Edward murmured, looking up at the array intently. "Gotta take apart intersections 57.3 and 45.5, replace that with a concave mirror..."

Taking Edward's wrist, Alfons drew him closer to the array, up onto the shallow pedestal in the center that Edward would stand on when activating it. Motes of light danced around them in arcane designs, coming to rest across Edward's hair and shoulders, leaving streaks of red light on his skin.

"What are you- mrph!"

Alfons cut him off with a kiss, coaxing and insistent, pulling Edward to the floor with him.

"Here?" Edward gasped incredulously when they had broken apart, but Alfons didn't leave him time to worry, drawing him down until the man was squarely above him. The lights of the array surrounded them, and Alfons watched his lover against the backdrop of infinity, reveling in the fact that in their current position, Edward couldn't see the array; he could see nothing but him. Alfons wrapped his arms around him, and thought about the universe, endlessly expanding, and the dead star that would bring these thin trails of light to life in lines of fire.

Eliza joined the team around the same time that Edward started keeping his notes all over the place again. Papers migrated seemingly randomly across the house, and woe betide Alfons if he was in the vicinity when Edward couldn't find something vitally important – and they were _all_ vitally important.

Edward was apt to lose focus of whatever he was doing and just sit staring into space, occasionally making strange movements with his hands, before tearing off to write something down. The problem was that he sometimes did it in class, and sometimes in the corridors at university, and once during a hang-out session with the crowd.

Nobody had really known what to make of that, staring at Edward who scribbled seemingly meaningless mathematical series, before crowing enthusiastically.

"Yes! I got that damn phoenix!" he cried joyfully, then picked up his notes and ran out into the night.

All eyes turned to Alfons, looking for an explanation which he couldn't give. He shrugged helplessly.

"What _are_ you researching?" Russell asked in curiosity.

"It's these girls Edward hangs out with," Alfons said sadly, which didn't explain anything, but it was all they could coax out of him that night.

When he got home that night Edward was still sitting up, murmuring to himself, surrounded by papers in a pool of lamplight.

"It's late," Alfons said, not bothering to mention that people thought he was crazy. They were both crazy anyway; but it wasn't so bad, when they were crazy together. "Come to bed."

"Not now," Edward said, waving a hand dismissively.

"Edward..." Only after the word left his mouth did he hear the pleading note in it, and made a quick effort to try and sound less pathetic.

"Not _now_!" Edward hissed, pressing his prosthetic to his temple, and murmuring to himself as his pencil moved wildly across the paper.

Turning angrily on his heel, Alfons stomped upstairs, where he crawled into the empty bed. _Those girls_, he thought bitterly. They were truly taking over Edward's life.

* * *

Because it was so gradual, Alfons hardly noticed Edward's worsening limp, and put down his frequent breaking of dishes to nerves. But one day, watching him on the way home from the lab, he realized that the twitching of his prosthetic fingers was unintentional.

"How's your prosthetic?" he asked instinctively, before he realized that maybe he shouldn't have asked.

"Good enough," Edward said tightly, not looking at him.

"You're keeping the last one for the day of the transmutation, right?" Alfons asked. Edward nodded, and he didn't prod anymore. He knew, just as well as Edward did, that there was only one arm left.

From then on, he made a special effort to keep Edward from having to use his hands too much, in an attempt to make the current arm last longer. Under normal circumstances, he would have expected Edward to catch on immediately, but Edward just took it in stride. After just a few days of doing the majority of the dishes, cleaning, and cooking, and watching Edward wander around like a somnambulant, he realized that he was heartily sick of being taken for granted.

"_You_ can do the damn cleanup," he snapped after dinner and stalked off, not looking back at where Edward sat, staring at him in surprise.

Edward broke five dishes that night, did a terrible job of cleaning it up, and managed to get a piece of glass embedded in his foot. He showed up at the bedroom door, disheveled and nervous, attempting to favor both his twitchy prosthetic and damaged foot at the same time.

"Alfons?" he said in a small voice. "Could you help me get the glass out of my foot? I can't seem to find the damn shard."

With a sigh, Alfons nodded – because he could hardly refuse Edward, could he? - and motioned for his lover to sit down on the bed, while he turned on the lamp and examined the foot, pulling it onto his lap. With the needle Edward had brought, he located the shard and coaxed it out, noting the signs of Edward's abortive attempts scratched into the skin.

_There,_ he thought in triumph, putting the tiny piece of glass aside with the needle, and skimming his fingertips gently over the bottom of Edward's foot. The simple motion was enough to arouse him, and he thought, mouth dry, of how long it had been since Edward had given him more than just a passing glance, or touched him with any real passion.

"Hey," he said, running his fingers over the foot again, watching Edward's toes curl a bit in reaction. "Do you...?" He looked up, and the question trailed off into nothing. Edward was fast asleep.

Gently, he pushed Edward over on the bed, and pulled the covers over him. Edward shifted and sighed in his sleep, eyelids fluttering a bit, and Alfons stroked his hair until he had settled once more.

With a reluctant sigh he went to the bathroom to finish himself off, and wryly thought of how tired of his hand he was getting. He spent another hour or two doing homework, before crawling into bed next to Edward. Still rather annoyed, Alfons just lay on his side of the bed, instead of pulling Edward to his chest as he was wont.

At some point during the night he was woken by a sharp cry from Edward, who sat up in bed, quivering and gasping. Alfons would probably have been willing to just ignore him at this point and go back to sleep, but Edward whimpered and threw his arms around him, burying his face in Alfons' chest.

"It's okay," Alfons mumbled tiredly. "C'mon, Edward, it's going to be okay..."

* * *

The night before Frieda came into play, Edward drew blood again. This time Alfons was marginally better at stabbing the vein, and knew what to expect. He plied Edward with tea and cookies, and tucked him into bed with a stern admonishment to rest.

And yet... he was uneasy, watching the way Edward's head lolled, eyes half-closed in a deathly pale face. He wasn't sure, but it seemed to him that Edward was even less aware than he had been after the first draining. Was losing so much blood truly safe?

"Quit it," Edward mumbled, trying, and failing, to focus his eyes on Alfons' face. "Y'r makin' me nervous."

Alfons unclenched his fists, and forced himself to relax. "Maybe you _should_ be more nervous about this. You look awful."

"Too tired," Edward answered, letting his head fall back on the pillows, eyes slipping shut. Shaking his head slightly, Alfons turned to leave the room.

"Don' go."

Looking back, he saw that Edward's eyes were open again, and he seemed to be making an effort to lift his hand.

There were things to be done, Alfons wanted to say. They had a life and a house to run, materials to be ordered, molt designs to improve, and work in some homework around everything else. But he looked at Edward, lying there so pale and weak, and thought that if things _did_ go wrong, this chance might never return.

Damn Edward for making him paranoid, but he couldn't repeal the thought, so he went and sat down, taking Edward's rough, callused, and terribly fragile hand in his own. Edward looked embarrassed, but happy, and fell into an exhausted sleep.

Alfons didn't know how long he sat there, just watching the steady rise and fall of Edward's chest. He twined his fingers through Edward's, and this way, he would never regret something like not having held Edward's hand –

No. Enough with this, already. He forced himself to think about how silly it was, two grown men sitting and holding hands, and was most definitely _not_ memorizing the feel of Edward's palm against his own.

"You're driving me crazy," he observed aloud.

* * *

Edward insisted the next morning that he was perfectly fine. Alfons refrained from pointing out that Edward was holding onto a chair back for support as he watched Frieda get bolted into place. Edward's irritability was reaching astronomical heights, to the point where Zeller had come to Alfons last week and asked him if Edward having yelled at somebody from his team that they were "a fucking useless idiot" meant that person was fired. Assuring him that this most definitely was _not_ the case, Alfons instructed Zeller privately not to take any notice of Edward's outbursts. "It's just how he deals with tension," Alfons had said.

Now Edward was berating the men once again. "It's fucking crooked!" he shouted. "How many goddamn times have we done this? Why can't you people get it straight?"

Alfons sighed and turned his back on Edward, hearing somebody apologizing. Gathering his men, he noted that they seemed profoundly relieved to be working with him and not Edward.

"Holy fuck!" Edward's voice came again, echoing. "Put it at 67.2, Gottleib, not – what do you _mean_ it's already there? That can't be, look at..."

Sapphires again, today, Alfons thought. His results had been sporadic with them, but promising. He still felt bad that Edward was stuck using red molts, but he hadn't yet managed to change their shade.

"Something is fucking wrong here," Edward shouted, "Junction 21 is off by three degrees, which means that either Frieda is off by two degrees..."

Alfons rolled his eyes. "Weld another #5 for the next one," he instructed Bennet and Jandry, who were going to build the casing for the next red molt, in case the sapphires didn't work yet.

"Confound the damn thing, no, no," Edward practically wailed. "It's 19, its angle is off, oh shit, no wonder 21 wasn't matching up...."

Alfons flinched involuntarily. If Ed had to take apart more than two junctions, it would be a major setback.

"Hop to it, nothing for it, let's get a move-" CRASH.

At that, Alfons, along with his entire team looked up, to see that Edward was down, lying in a crumpled heap on the floor, the array floating smokily above him in the background. Before he knew it, he was sprinting, hardly noticing that several of the other men were right behind him.

By the time he reached Edward, his lover was sitting up, looking pale and drawn, supported by Aisenyev's hand on his back, the array looming over them, flickering.

"I broke my arm," Edward said tightly, and Alfons could see by the men's faces that he wasn't the only one confused as to why Edward wasn't, oh, writhing in pain or something.

Then he saw the arm sitting in Edward's lap, bent at an angle under his shirt, and almost thought that maybe a proper break would have been better.

"We shall go to the hospital," Alfons said, because at least _one_ of them had to pretend his arm was real.

"Hospital?" Edward looked startled.

"He just swayed and collapsed," Englemann explained quickly, looking rather worried. "He may have hit his head."

He probably had lost his balance, because of a combination of wooziness from blood loss and his twitchy foot.

"No, I didn't," Edward said, starting to look annoyed.

"You are probably right," Alfons agreed with Englemann, and reached over to help pull Edward to his feet. "I will take us to the hospital, now. All you can go to home – I do not think we will work more today."

"But," Edward mumbled, nonplussed, and Alfons shot him a warning look.

"Can't you at least _try_ to look like you're in pain?" he murmured in German.

"Oh." Taking his advice to heart, apparently, Edward proceeded to hang his head, breath coming short and tight through clenched teeth. It was quite convincing. Alfons draped his coat around his shoulders, because somebody with a real broken arm would hardly try to maneuver it into a sleeve, and hoped Edward wouldn't catch cold on the way.

On the way out, Alfons didn't have to explain anything to Tom, the current watchman, because apparently somebody had given him an update. When they were finally out of the view of the other men, Edward shrugged Alfons arm off and straightened up, casting his arm a disgusted glance. He then pulled the coat on properly, shoving his human hand into its sleeve, but not even bothering with the prosthetic. The empty black sleeve fluttered behind him.

Alfons walked next to him in silence, waiting for him to say something, but Edward was silent during the walk, silent on the tram, and silent as Alfons unlocked their door.

It was up to him, apparently.

"Do you think it's fixa-"

"I don't fucking_ know_ yet," Edward snapped, irritably throwing his coat aside and working at his shirt. Using only one hand he fumbled the buttons, cursed, and finally just tore the shirt open. A quick shrug, and the shirt was on the floor and kicked viciously aside.

_Broken_ described the arm quite accurately: The wrist was twisted at an angle, tearing the artificial skin and bunching it up, exposing the metal and wires beneath. The force of Edward's fall had wrenched the wrist so hard that it had also cracked the casing of his forearm, long fissures visible under the still-intact skin.

It was quite obviously utterly unfixable.

"Shit," Edward said, the curse sounding more like a plea. "Come on, stupid arm, you've gotta keep working..." Tentatively, he tried to twist the wrist back into place, but it only flopped uselessly with a soft clicking.

Alfons watched helplessly as Edward made a soft despairing sound, and flopped down on the sofa, putting his face in his hand, the prosthetic lying useless beside him, dead weight. A few minutes passed, and it became clear that Edward wasn't really in a situation to offer a solution to the problem.

"How about if we cast it?" Alfons offered, coming to sit next to his lover.

Edward stiffened, looking at him incredulously. "What exactly is _that_ supposed to accomplish?" His tone suggested that he was becoming rather unsure of Alfons' mental faculties. "It's not going to _heal_, you know!"

Recognizing that Edward was just lashing out because of tension, Alfons suppressed his immediate annoyance. "I know," he explained patiently, "but nobody else knows you have a prosthetic. If you're wearing a cast, it will give everybody a reason why your arm isn't functioning properly."

The suggestion didn't seem particularly attractive to Edward, who glanced at his hand, then looked away.

"Whatever," he finally said dully. "It doesn't make a difference."

Alfons stood, waiting, but Edward didn't say anything else and didn't move to do anything, so he called up Frederick from the medical school and managed to coax several rolls of plaster cast out of him. He opened his mouth to announce to Edward that he was going to get the cast, but a look at his lover made him shake his head and leave, the words unsaid.

It wouldn't be such a change, he told himself. Edward hadn't had a real arm until now, and had always been just a bit clumsy with his prosthetic and the reversed-directions thing anyway. All it meant was that Edward would be less helpful with things like hanging laundry (which they didn't do often enough) and washing dishes (which they didn't either).

Once again, Alfons' expectations proved far from reality. It became quite rapidly clear that Edward without a functioning arm, which was also bound up in a sling and hanging uselessly there, was far more helpless than he would have anticipated. Something simple like getting dressed became a major production, as maneuvering the limp arm through sleeves was quite challenging with one hand. Taking a bath without getting the cast wet was nearly impossible, and Edward's balance on his prosthetic leg (or lack thereof) made Alfons worry constantly that he would slip and break his neck. In addition, there were a whole variety of minor tasks that Edward had difficulty with, now, such as most of the housework.

Even so, all these things would have been possible to work around if not for Edward's general attitude: within the first days he managed to make it clear, through a series of flinchings, jerking away, and almost animal snarls that Alfons was not, under any circumstances, to touch him.

The first night, when Edward had curled up in bed and shot Alfons hostile glances that made it quite clear that he did _not_ want to be joined, Alfons had smiled at him carefully and left. He didn't want to push, and it was clear that Edward was hurting.

Alfons hadn't mentioned it the next day, but when the situation had gone on practically until Saturday he was starting to dislike it with a passion. Pride was something he understood, as was Edward's desire to not be pitied, but that didn't make the abrupt animosity any easier to bear, or hurt any less.

For Edward's sake, he sucked it up. Come mornings he went to university, then he worked on the molts, and at home he allowed Edward to help out with whatever he wanted to. _See, there's no pressure_, he thought, wishing that he could somehow _make_ Edward see what was going on in his mind.

_It doesn't have to matter_, he wanted to say. Helping Edward out just a little more here and there was no burden unless Edward went out of his way to make it so. Why was Edward pushing him away now, of all times? In the past, Edward had allowed Alfons to help him shave, to arrange the chores so that Edward didn't have to deal with breakable things, even to take his arm off and help him work out the aches in his back.

Just another one of his hang-ups, Alfons thought on Friday night as he watched Edward undress for bed from just outside the door. He had no illusions about the fact that if Edward saw him he would probably ask him to leave, but this time Alfons wasn't willing to let it go. Edward was probably thinking something stupid like Alfons wouldn't want to touch him because his arm was broken – which was just plain idiotic.

Coming to a decision, Alfons entered the room and started to nonchalantly take off his shirt. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Edward tense, but his lover didn't say anything until Alfons was half undressed.

Alfons cut in before Edward could speak, smiling at him guilelessly, and coming to sit on the edge of the bed next to him. "Wouldn't it be easier for you if you take off the prosthetic at night? It can't be comfortable, sleeping in that cast."

Derailed, Edward stared at him, then looked down at the arm. "If I take it on and off too much I'll risk damaging the nerves," he mumbled.

_Good. He's talking_. "Why not jam the connection to the port so that it's still connected to your shoulder, but not actually linking the nerves? It won't move anymore, anyway." Keeping a careful smile on his face, Alfons didn't make any move to reach for Edward, just watched him grow more relaxed at Alfons' closeness. "That way at least you can sleep more comfortably."

Edward shot him a wary glance, looked down at his useless arm, then back at Alfons. "I suppose," he said carefully. "We could try it."

Alfons watched as Edward started working the buckle, wondering if Edward was going to ask for help. The leather was stiff and thick, difficult to manipulate one-handed.

"Let me," he finally said softly, and reached over to pull the buckle open. Encouraged by the fact that Edward didn't push him away, he helped get the strap over his shoulder, and then carefully worked the prosthetic out of its socket.

Almost immediately he found his eyes captivated by Edward's utterly bare chest. His body was lopsided because his arm was missing, but Alfons didn't care. Heart pounding in his throat, he wondered what kissing him without the prosthetic's strap in the way would be like, and next thing he knew, his hand had reached forward to stroke the slightly rough skin of the center of Edward's chest.

"Cut it out," Edward said shakily, leaning away. Alfons followed, mesmerized, already aching with arousal.

"I don't feel like it," Edward snapped, grabbing Alfons' wrist. He broke the hold (the way Edward had taught him), and dived. Edward kicked out at him, tried to roll away, and they both crashed to the floor. In the scramble that ensued Alfons managed to get a handful of Edward's hair ("_don't fight fair,"_ Edward always said, "_win._") and Edward hissed and kicked his knees out from under him, making Alfons sprawl across his torso, hand still fisted in his hair.

"Let go!" Edward snarled, trying to make Alfons release him by smashing the back of his head into Alfons' fingers.

"Fight me," Alfons gasped, his lungs starting to ache with the strain. All he wanted was to feel Edward's body against his; he didn't care in what context.

"_Fight_ you?" Edward's tone was incredulous. A strange, ugly expression twisted his face. "You bastard. You fucker. _Fine._" With no more warning he lashed out, nearly managing to kick Alfons in the face. Somehow Alfons managed to wrap his arm around Edward's leg, partly immobilizing it, though Edward's heel pounded painfully against his back.

Some part of his adrenaline-addled brain recognized that he had the advantage as long as he could keep Edward from getting his feet under him. Even so, he was pleasantly surprised when he managed to actually pin his lover, pushing Edward's arm tight against his body with his knee, and pressed his forearm down on Edward's chest to hold him.

Edward was cooperating, he thought with a thrill, not caring about the bruises that would surely result from this scuffle. He hadn't bothered with Edward's prosthetic leg, because it was too unsteady to be a real threat, and now he heard it scuffing uselessly against the floorboards.

A grin on his face, he leaned down to nibble at Edward's neck, registering dimly that he was still shifting beneath him, trying uselessly to escape.

Edward's chest rose and fell. "Let go of me," he said hoarsely, punctuated with another attempt to kick. Alfons ignored him, because Edward hadn't thrown him off, yet. He knew that whenever Edward _truly_ wanted away, he would just toss... but he _hadn't_, because... he...

Alfons' heart stuttered to a halt, stuck somewhere in his throat. At that moment he registered the tension in Edward's body, the sweat beading on his skin, small noises trapped in his chest. Hardly daring to breathe he looked up at Edward's face – the eyes and jaw clenched shut, the way his head was tilted to the side, breathing heavily through his nose. He knew what Edward looked like when he was enjoying himself, and this wasn't it.

_No_, he thought dazedly, sitting up, releasing Edward's arm.

Immediately Edward shoved him off, scooting backwards on the floor, his eyes wide and focused warily on Alfons' face.

Alfons sat down heavily, bile rising in his throat. _He hadn't stopped_. Edward had told him to stop, and he _hadn't_. What had possessed him?

How could he ever look Edward in the face again?

"I," he said, then paused, because Edward had actually _flinched. _

"Are you happy now?" Edward asked, his voice low and sharp. "Got your kicks, yet?"

"I thought you would win." His voice was strangled and distant. He pulled his knees to his chest, clenched his fists, and cursed himself for a fool, a thousand times a fool. Of _course_ Edward couldn't fight properly, lacking an arm and with an unsteady foot and weak from blood loss, but he still had to say it, his tone small and terribly pathetic - "You always win."

"_Right_," Edward said bitterly. "Might want to rethink that." He rose unsteadily and limped over to the bed, and Alfons just listened to him getting in and rolling over, because his gaze was firmly fixed on the floor.

Edward turned off the light but Alfons still didn't move, sick at heart, ashamed of himself, lacking the will to get into a bed. He wasn't tired, anyway.

Hours passed, his back and legs cramped, but he didn't dare leave his silent vigil. Darkness pressed in on him, cold seeped up from the floorboards, and he pulled his knees closer to his chest for warmth. At some point during the night he was roused from his stupor by Edward who had started whimpering and thrashing in his sleep. Before he knew it he was on his feet, obeying his initial instinct – to comfort Edward, but managed to stop himself in time, terror clogging his throat.

What if Edward didn't want him around? What if Edward was having a nightmare about _him_?

Lowering his hands, a slight sound escaped his throat, and his eyes burned. Bruised, both body and soul, he sat back down on the floor in his self-imposed exile, and waited for morning.

* * *

When Edward sat up in bed the next morning, sleep-tousled, bruises already vivid against his skin, Alfons' eyes were immediately drawn to him – and immediately dropped to the floor once again. He listened silently to the creaking and shuffling as Edward went to his prosthetic, then felt his heart drop to somewhere in the vicinity of his feet as he realized that he _couldn't_ avoid Edward.

If he didn't help Edward, then who would?

For the first time he realized how _helpless_ Edward was right now, how many small things that he took for granted Edward was incapable of doing. How he had gone out of his way to emphasize that weakness last night.

Footsteps came closer, and suddenly Edward was kneeling across from him, looking intently at his face. After his initial glance upward in startlement Alfons focused on the grain of the floor once again.

Edward spoke, and Alfons braced himself.

"Did you mean it?" his lover asked, the weight of his gaze heavy on Alfons' head. When Alfons didn't answer, Edward elaborated: "That you thought I would win."

Hearing the words spoken back to him Alfons cringed in realization of how damn _stupid_ they sounded.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly, hoping he didn't sound as hopeless as he felt, hoping the inadequate apology wasn't as pathetic as it sounded in his head. "It wasn't right, what I did. I didn't think things through."

Edward made a strange noise, reminiscent of a chuckle but darker. "You didn't actually _do_ anything, you know," he informed a stunned Alfons.

"But-!" The protest died on his lips as he looked up to see that Edward was looking strangely off into the distance. Maybe he hadn't gone so far, but he had been frighteningly close, and -

"Scar destroyed my automail once," Edward said absently, obviously remembering. "When I got back to base, everybody, even the Bastard Colonel, they all said how I was... but you _didn't..._."

Then Edward was looking back at him, was _smiling_ at him, and Alfons just didn't know what to think. Even more mind-boggling was the fact that then Edward ran his hand through Alfons' hair, called him an idiot in that fond way he had, and actually kissed him softly on the top of his head.

What had he done right? Alfons wondered dazedly. Either way, he swore to himself that he would _never_ in his life so much as risk taking advantage of Edward. Tentatively he rested his left hand on Edward's side, stroking gently with his thumb. There was some residual wariness about Edward, but Alfons didn't push, and when Edward leaned close to kiss him, it was sweet and gentle, and he waited for Edward to coax his lips apart. He still wanted Edward terribly, but now wasn't the time, so he just continued stroking Edward with feather-light touches, sharing gentle kisses, until they had to rush to university.

* * *

Edward's epiphany – whatever it had been about – wasn't quite enough to make their current situation simple, but it did ease some tension between them. No longer did Edward fight tooth and nail every time he was forced to ask for help from Alfons, but seemed to accept the assistance with a fatalistic resignation. Alfons made very sure not to rub his face in it.

Yet it seemed that nothing would slow Edward down in terms of lab work, because not two weeks later Gwen was installed and powered up. Advances in the array could be seen practically from day to day, and Edward's temper frayed to a thread. He took to carrying some of his notes around, and spent most of his free time (and his non-free time) perusing them and ignoring the rest of the world.

Their house looked like a disaster zone, and Alfons decided it wasn't worth the effort to keep things clean. Almost nobody had reason to come by, so what did it matter if Edward kept forgetting to tack papers onto the walls, and just scribbled on the wallpaper? Who did it bother if sometimes he wrote on the desk, or the arms of the sofa? Alfons only drew the line when Edward started writing on his plate, and informed him tartly that if he wanted to drink ink, he should just do it from the bottle.

_Look at me, _Alfons wanted to say to him. If they truly had so little time left, it was stupid not to spend it together. The only time Edward was mostly at rest was when he was actually sleeping (which was not terribly often).

On one of the rare occasions when Edward had collapsed into bed, Alfons had immediately feigned tiredness just so he would have an excuse to be in bed with him, and maybe sleep with Edward in his arms again. Since he wasn't actually tired yet, Alfons just lay with his face to Edward's, and after what seemed like hours worked up the courage to lay a hand gently on his cheek, running a thumb over his cheekbone. Edward's face was rough with stubble because he couldn't be bothered to get shaved every morning. Then, keeping to light touches, he ran his fingers up the side of Edward's face, brushing his bangs out of the way for better access. His fingers explored the soft arch of Edward's eyebrows, down the bridge of his nose, along his lips.

It couldn't be, he thought, that after all this Edward would be gone, vanish from his life like a dream. They had been together for what, two years now? It seemed like such a long – and yet woefully short – time, but either way it just wasn't _enough_. He could live the rest of his life with this man, Alfons thought to himself in wonder.

...Then again, according to Edward, "the rest of his life" (or maybe Edward's life, he seemed undecided as to who would be the one to suffer) was looking to be pretty short.

"Don't stop," came Edward's sleepy voice, and Alfons looked at him, startled. During his introspection his hand had stilled, but he hadn't been aware that Edward was awake.

"Okay," he whispered, and resumed stroking, noting how Edward's breaths slowed, calmed, how the crease between his brows smoothed.

"This is a good memory," Edward said sleepily.

Roughly, Alfons shook Edward until he opened his eyes.

"Why do you keep _talking_ like that?" he demanded. Every time he thought he had pushed the panic back Edward had to go and say something like that. "Half the time you act like you're at death's door, the other half like _I_ am! Do we have to contemplate our imminent doom _every_ minute of the day?"

"Sorry," Edward whispered, closing his eyes, pulling Alfons' hand to him. "I always used to pretend everything was fine. But then it _wasn't_. I want to be truthful with you. I want," Edward's breath hitched, "y-you to know that I'm going to do my best, but maybe I'm not going to be coming back to you."

Taking several calming breaths, Alfons forced himself to be rational. He ached so badly for Edward, but for the first time he understood what was behind his obsessive pessimism. All Edward wanted was the chance that had been denied him when he left his world: the chance to say goodbye.

This realization did not actually make the German feel any better about the situation.

"I actually got the point a while ago," Alfons said, trying to keep the asperity from his voice. "Taking a hint is _not_ that hard." He took a breath, rolled onto his back, and tried to will himself not to say the words that were coming, but wasn't strong enough. "If you're so sure things will go wrong, have you considered that maybe this _isn't_ the solution?" Saying the words was easier when not actually looking at what they were doing to Edward.

"There _aren't_ any others," Edward answered miserably. "This is the only one I think could possibly circumvent the Gate. And if God wants to screw me over, I'm sure he'd do it anyway."

One very obvious solution that Alfons could think of wasn't really worth mentioning, because he had agreed to this, right? Months ago Edward had been willing to give up his world for Alfons, and Alfons had been the one who decided that he was willing to sacrifice his world for Edward's dream.

At the time, he hadn't known he might be called upon to sacrifice his life as well.

"If God decides that I need to die, then I will," Alfons said. "Just let it be _His_ decision, and not yours." He wasn't sure if he believed it would end the way Edward feared, but he believed some things were out of their hands.

But he didn't want to die. He had only just started living again, and even if he had experienced more in his nineteen years of life than others experienced in forty, it wasn't enough.

"I," Edward said, sounding breathless, "I _wouldn't_-"

Sitting up abruptly Alfons turned, leaning over Edward so he could meet his eyes squarely. "Do your best, Edward. Take every precaution. That's just prudent. But believe that things will work out the way they're meant to." This was the prelude, he reminded himself. This was where the real adventure started, his life was only beginning.

"I always try my best," Edward said miserably. "It just never _works_, because I tell you, whatever god is out there fucking has it in for me-"

"Will you _stop_ blaming him?" Alfons interrupted, annoyed. "If you're so sure God hates you, then go _do_ something about it, and stop whining to me!"

"Oh please," Edward snorted. "What exactly am I supposed to do?"

"Go pray to him if it's bothering you so much!" Alfons said, lying back down decisively and turning his back to Edward.

"I'm not going to _pray_, that's daft," Edward said, sounding insulted.

"It's not like you have anything to lose," Alfons answered reasonably.

"But-"

"_Then fucking dry up about him hating you, already_," Alfons said, pulled the pillow over his head, and tuned Edward out.

* * *

After that Edward grew more subdued, his outbursts of temper less frequent. It was nearing four weeks since his prosthetic had broken, and Alfons knew that he wasn't the only one watching the calendar carefully trying to think about what they would do if the six weeks were over and the array wasn't complete yet.

In the lab the array was massive and ghostly, fully four meters in diameter. When Edward turned on the steam makers and white clouds filled the center, the lattice of light became visible, half-finished in the center of the floor. To Alfons it seemed like a massive ethereal jellyfish, dwarfing Edward's small frame, just waiting to swoop down and absorb him entirely. Not that he had ever seen a real jellyfish, but he had seen pictures of them, and had always found them terribly disturbing.

He tried to push the fancy away, because it was foolish to be afraid of an inert array, and _he_ had been the one to build the molts constructing it. Fearing that one of them would vanish into its smoky depths and never come out was a useless exercise.

Still, Alfons was lonely. He missed the days when they would just _talk_, the days when Edward would look across the table at him and not down at his notes, how Edward used to catch his eyes sometimes and give him a naughty smirk that meant he was thinking of things they could never discuss in public.

For that matter, he wished said things were more than just a fond memory. Even though Ed now consented to be touched and even graced Alfons with a handjob every so often, it just wasn't enough. The closeness was gone, and Alfons didn't know how to revive it. How was he supposed to make Edward _want _him? The battle had always been emotionally, to get Edward to accept that it was okay. Now he had no doubt that Edward would be lost without him, but the man hadn't jumped him in _ages_, and he missed it sharply. Under normal circumstances he would have just jumped Edward... but that hadn't really worked out well, had it?

Watching Edward dully one night he inquired idly whether if he drew the arrays on his body it would make Edward look at him more. At that Edward _did_ look up, horrified, and with many repetitions told him that he should _never ever_ draw an array like this on his body. Arrays on the body could never mean anything good, Edward said, and Alfons smiled tiredly and gave in without fuss. But his question hadn't been answered.

He tried to escape Edward, but for once, his evening meetings with friends brought no solace. They were entrenched in their own problems, and Alfons felt oddly divorced from Cain's stories about his seven siblings, and Frank and Russell's good-natured arguments and worries about school. He watched them interact, and wondered if he would meet their parallels in Edward's world, and what they would be like.

"You're glum today," Zolf said, quick to smell weakness, as always.

Alfons sighed and looked down at his soda, wishing it were something stronger. There was still some vodka left at home, somewhere in the back of one of the closets.... He shook his head to clear it. "Edward is pushing me up the walls." Edward was also driving himself off a cliff, but he wouldn't share that.

"What is it now?" Winifred asked, and now the others' ears were perking up. Despite having gotten used to him, Edward was still something exotic and strange to them. Most people didn't know many crazies, after all.

"Nothing," Alfons answered dully. "Nothing is wrong. All we must do is finish research, and then everything will be okay."

"I don't think the research is worth killing yourself over," Frank observed quietly. "For everything there is a day after. What will you do once it's over?"

Alfons felt trapped. They were closing in on him, and he knew that in his tired, frustrated state he would eventually end up saying more than he should. "It will be okay," he repeated. "It is good research."

"But what _is_ it?" Russell asked now, and Alfons just gave in. He didn't have enough energy to play another game of dancing around the subject without offending anybody.

"We are using experimental light waves in order to create an alchemy array that will open a portal into the Fourth Dimension," he said, and felt as if a weight had rolled off of him. Being crazy was so... liberating.

But Russell laughed, and Zolf told him it was a "good one", and then they all sat around speculating about dimensional theory, on the idea that Alfons had come up with a good enough story to deserve respite from nagging.

Eventually he left, feeling even more alone than before. Edward's insistence that they not make friends, not get connected made so much _sense_. He didn't know if it was worse leaving people he cared about, or knowing that he could never truly share his thoughts and concerns with anybody but Edward.

On his way home he passed by a church and paused, looking up at the facade. He didn't care what denomination it belonged to, he just wanted to go in and maybe let out some of his fears, but it was locked at this time of night. He climbed up the wide stone steps and pressed his gloved hands to the frigid wooden doors. If this was as close as he could get, this was what he'd take.

Now, though, he found that he had nothing to say. The turmoil inside him was too great, and finally he settled on just asking for happiness. Never mind if the array worked or didn't work, or what happened on the way. Happiness, under whatever circumstances that would find them, was all he could hope for.

Then he hurried home through the piled snow, wanting to get to the warmth, but at the same time dreading it. Edward would probably still be up, poring over his notes, he thought, pausing outside the door. Another evening of coaxing him into bed, another night of trying to hide uncomfortable dreams from Edward, because he wouldn't ever want to pressure him. He wanted Edward to come to him out of desire, and desire was not something that could be forced.

With a sigh, because the way the possible End was hanging over their heads he wouldn't dream of trying to evade Edward, he unlocked the door and stepped inside. The house was quiet, which was normal, but darker than Alfons had expected. Lights were out in the kitchen, and it looked like only one lamp was on in the living room, casting long shadows. Could Edward have gone to bed already?

He hung his wet outerwear in the foyer, and poked his head into the living room, to find only scattered books and papers, lying inert. A soft scuff behind him made him turn a bit, but he wasn't quick enough. Before he could react a hand clamped down around his left wrist, forcing it behind his back, and his legs were kicked out from underneath him. He wasn't quite sure how, but the sofa broke his fall instead of the floor, and after a moment of vertigo he found himself pinned on his back, hands resting by the sides of his head, and impossibly aroused. After the initial moment of almost-panic he had realized how familiar the hands were, the smell of the person pressed up against his back, and the way Edward always loved to give him a split-second's warning just to emphasize that he could throw him anyway.

"What..." he managed, gasping, before Edward's mouth was on his own, a hand tangled in his hair, while a terribly familiar prosthetic palm pressed his right arm down, twining their fingers together. Any wondering about why or how Edward was doing any of this vanished, swept away by pure need. He was so caught up in the sensation of Edward's body against his own, drowning in it, that he didn't notice that Edward tired faster than usual, or that it took more effort for him to climax, or the way Edward pressed his face into his chest and just breathed in short sobs, quivering with emotion. He squirmed and whined and barely registered the fact that Edward was touching him with two hands when he should only have one. All he knew was heat and friction and finally, release.

Edward, who usually had more stamina than him, collapsed limply against his chest, and it took Alfons some effort to get him up and stumble to bed. As he was falling asleep he thought he heard Edward murmur something to him, but couldn't make out the words.

* * *

Waking up was, for a change, very nice. He didn't mind that he was sort of sticky and itchy and really needed a shower, because Edward's head was on his chest, and Edward's skin was warm against his, and he was sleeping peacefully.

When he glanced at the clock and saw they were late for university his mood wasn't as cheerful, but he pushed the thoughts away. University didn't matter. Edward mattered, and making sure that the molt experiment wasn't their last mattered.

He closed his eyes and thought of the fear that Edward had infected him with, the sneaking conviction that things would end badly, looked it in the face, and pushed it aside. This was just the beginning, he reminded himself. The whole _point _of the array was to get to the other side, where the true adventure was supposed to begin. True, Edward seemed terrified – but what did _Alfons_ have to be afraid of? He hadn't experienced anything that led him to believe that things would end as horribly as Edward feared. When you got right down to it, he had allowed himself to get swept up by Edward's probably baseless paranoia, despite promising himself that he would be the sane and balanced one. At this rate they would both worry themselves into an early grave far before they ever activated the array.

Feeling more peaceful than he had in a long time, Alfons ran his hands up Edward's back, gently tracing the map of scars across his shoulders, for once not avoiding the dip and unnaturally smooth skin of where the hole in his chest had been. Not for the first time, he wondered a bit at it, because 'scar' hardly _began_ to describe what was going on there. Scars were where flesh and skin managed to knit over a wound. This went far beyond a simple scar, and more into 'cork' territory.

On the way back up to his shoulders his fingers encountered the thick leather of the prosthetic's harness, and Alfons suddenly remembered why the sensation of two hands pinning him down had felt oddly alien last night. He shifted a bit to get a better view, and his heart sank as his eyes confirmed his suspicions. Smooth, unmarred silicon encased the prosthetic, and the shoulder was free of the nicks or scratches that always built up through use.

The prosthetic was undoubtedly new – and Alfons had the sinking suspicion that if he were to check in the closet where Edward had stored his last arm, saved up for the day of the transmutation, he would find it missing. Such a risk was almost unimaginable, because if something happened to the prosthetic, what would they _do_? And given the state of Edward's balance last night, chances were high that he had also taken out a new leg.

Edward had put his last arm and one of his last legs at risk, just to please Alfons. He shouldn't have put Edward in that position, he thought remorsefully, though he couldn't help but feel so calm and relaxed now that some of the tension was gone, though he was pretty sure he would be up for another round if Edward didn't get off him in the near future.

_Especially_ if Edward didn't stop shifting the way he was now, rubbing himself along Alfons side and curving his arm around Alfons as he slowly moved towards wakefulness.

"Mm," Edward said, lifting his head a bit and meeting Alfons' eyes with his tired, sated amber ones. A hopeful look on his face, Edward scooted up a bit so he could reach to nuzzle Alfons' jaw lazily. "Was it good?"

He opened his mouth to scold Edward over the sheer stupidity of running such a risk just because Alfons was horny, but paused. Edward had done it for Alfons, because he cared. Was it really fair to throw the effort in his face like that?

"Amazing," he said instead, and was rewarded with an adorable flush, and a smile that was brilliant despite the tired drooping at its edges. "But we should probably get in the tub," he added, still running his hands over Edward's shoulder blades, then further down. He forced himself to stop before he could stray into dangerous territory.

Instead, he took slight advantage of Edward's tired state and insisted they bathe together. They couldn't really relax in the water because Edward never filled up the tub, not wanting too much water to come into contact with his prosthetics. Still, scrubbing Edward's back for him and pulling him tight against Alfons' stomach made up for the lack of warm water to play in. Having Edward lean against him was _very_ nice, though Alfons was starting to become slightly uncomfortable with the way his body was reacting. Even more uncomfortable was the fact that Edward just wasn't responding – on the contrary, he managed to twist around enough to rest his cheek against Alfons' chest, and looked well on the way to falling asleep.

"Hey." He shook Edward's shoulder a few times, until he opened his eyes a bit. "Don't go to sleep here, I don't want to have to carry you to bed."

With what seemed like a monumental effort Edward pushed himself up, and blinked a few times. "I'm not going to sleep," he said, and rubbed his eyes. "I need to work on the array. I can't sleep."

That made sense, Alfons told himself. Edward's will was definitely strong enough to overcome mere tiredness. And if he could overcome it enough to work on the array, he thought as he watched Edward dry himself and make his way back to their room, he could definitely spare some energy for Alfons....

He hardly felt himself walking anymore. It seemed like he was just floating in Edward's wake, drawn to his skin like metal to a magnet. Almost without volition his hand reached out to slide over Edward's smooth human shoulder, and down his chest.

"May I?" he asked, when Edward looked at him curiously. He shouldn't have to ask, but the thought of pushing, of just _taking,_ still scared him.

Edward hummed and wrapped his arms around Alfons, drawing him down to the bed. Unspeakably relieved, Alfons let out a small noise and pressed down on top of him, trying to kiss every inch of his skin. He should have taken Edward's unfocused eyes as a warning, should have noticed the way his head lolled, but he desperately willed himself to believe it wasn't happening – until, that is, Edward started snoring. No longer able to deny the obvious, he let out a frustrated groan and buried his face in the mattress.

God, it just _wasn't fair. _

An hour later, and Edward still showed no sign of waking up. By this point Alfons was hardly inclined to go to university; by the time he got there the way would be half over, anyway, and he just wasn't in the mood. Had Edward been awake they would have definitely gone to the labs, but Alfons didn't really have that much to do by himself, as the next molt was already long complete.

Then again....

A thought taking root in his mind, he got up and started searching through the disparate piles of papers around the house.

Living with Edward for nigh on two years, he had some idea of how Edward liked to keep his notes and structure his research. If he could just find the right pile....

It took him longer than he expected, carefully sifting through Edward's papers and trying to arrange them exactly the way they had been when he was finished, but he finally found the notes that corresponded to the array's current state. As expected, Edward had also written out details of how the construction was supposed to go. True, they were in his awful handwriting combined with a complicated shorthand, but Alfons had seen enough of Edward's work by now that he had a general idea of how it would go.

He spent several hours poring over the notes until he had a feeling he would be able to work with the molts. A quick check upstairs showed that Edward was still sleeping like a log. Alfons had a brief debate with himself over waking Edward up – he would surely be annoyed to discover that a whole day had passed without getting any work done at the lab. But Edward was so exhausted... better to just let him sleep.

The only problem with the bright idea of trying to build the array in Edward's stead was that he hadn't taken into account how _difficult_ it actually was. Only when he was standing before it, papers clutched in his hands, expectant silence surrounding him, waiting for coordinates did he realize that even with the notes to guide him, the task might be far beyond him.

Hattie was due to be activated any day, so Alfons decided to go ahead and fire her up, figuring that it might be easier to use a new molt. Even so, building the shapes with her involved weaving it seamlessly into the network of preexisting beams. The work was tedious and time-consuming, as each change to the array had to be carefully bolted or cemented into place with small mirrors or prisms. Countless difficulties cropped up, such as mirrors shifting at the last second and having to be reinstalled, and whenever Alfons' attention flagged just a bit the end of the beam would "escape" off into the depths of the ceiling, and require some maneuvering with prisms until it could be recaptured.

He barely noticed the time passing and only looked up when he realized that it had been dark out for a while now, his stomach was clamoring for food, and the horrible headache pulsing behind his eyes was just getting worse. Enough was enough.

After dismissing the men he made his way home, occasionally digging his fingers into his temples in an attempt to alleviate the stabbing pain. Bits of the array swam constantly in and out of his vision, and he groaned softly. Did this happen to Edward every time he tried to work on the array? How did he do it, hour after hour, day after day, having to keep such intense focus on lines that persisted in blurring and meshing together....

Edward's constant exhaustion was starting to make a lot more sense.

He stumbled into the house where the warmth enveloped him, allowing some of the tension to seep out. Something smelled _good_, and he followed the scents to the kitchen, mouth watering.

Edward was in the kitchen reading, and there was a pot of something that looked like stew bubbling on the stove. At Alfons' footsteps Edward looked up from his book with a relaxed, fond smile. Any annoyance at the fact that he had just spent the day giving himself a horrible headache while Edward lazed around reading faded as Edward brought him a bowl of stew and encouraged him to eat.

"What took you so long?" Edward asked, after inhaling about half his own bowl. "You look awful."

"I was working on the array." He kept his eyes on his food, suddenly unsure of what Edward's reaction would be. When Edward didn't say anything, he added, "You were sleeping, and I wanted to help you out."

"Thank you," Edward said quietly, and when Alfons was surprised into looking up at him, was looking at him now with such emotion in his eyes that Alfons found himself captivated. "But you shouldn't have. You work hard enough-"

"That has nothing to do with it," Alfons interrupted. "I wanted to work on the array a bit." He swallowed. "You never mentioned how hard it is. Does it also make your head hurt like this?" Almost unconsciously he raised a hand to rub across his forehead.

"Sometimes." Edward looked down uncomfortably. "I'm used to it, though, and it's easier for me, because I've been doing alchemy since I was little."

"We could arrange painkillers, you know," Alfons said just a bit irritably. He wondered, suddenly, if he would be able to do alchemy in Edward's world. Strange that the thought hadn't occurred to him before.

He was surprised to realize that he would be rather bitterly disappointed if he couldn't, and wondered where that feeling had come from.

"Alfons," Edward blurted, twisting the end of his shirt in his hands nervously, "you're happy, right?" He looked up pleadingly. "You'll like my world, won't you?"

"Uh," he stammered, taken aback. What kind of question was that? The gaping trap hidden in it was painfully obvious.

"Let's not talk about this," he managed, a lump starting in his throat. Leaving his home was so much easier when he didn't have to think about it.

Sadly, the chances of Edward just letting sleeping dogs lie were slim to none.

"What if you hate it?" Edward said, his voice cracking just a bit. "I can't _do_ that to you."

"You're not 'doing' anything to me," Alfons said tiredly. "It was my own decision." A decision that would be so much easier to stick to if Edward would just stop making him second-guess himself.

"Alfons..." Edward looked up at him, eyes large and pleading, and Alfons couldn't answer. Immigration was never easy, and he didn't expect it to be easy now, either. But it worked out for so many people, right? In a sense, America was practice for a much bigger transfer, a stepping stone allowing him to get used to the idea of never going back.

They finished eating in silence, then went to dump their bowls in the sink. Alfons came to stand behind Edward, and wrapped his arms around his waist.

"I'll have you, right?" he said gruffly, trying not to be embarrassed. "It can't be so bad."

The angle was awkward for Edward to hug him back, and Edward seemed reluctant to pull away, so he lifted his hands and stretched them backwards to wrap around Alfons' neck. Two hands.

"You'll have me, as long as I possibly can," Edward said, a catch in his voice. The weight of the promise was almost unbearable.

"You should take your arm off," Alfons said, changing the subject, still holding Edward against him. "It could break."

Edward tensed at the words, then pulled away, his right arm coming instinctively to cover his left shoulder in an unconscious defensive pose.

"I know," he said, just a bit breathlessly, taking a step back. "I was just on my way. I needed it to cook, though...."

"How about you do it now," Alfons suggested gently. It couldn't be easy for Edward, giving up his mobility and self-sufficiency, but it had to be done. They needed that reserve arm, if only to have the promise of something marginally comforting if the array didn't work.

Shoulders slumping, yet still not giving up, Edward tried a final plea. He stepped forward and pressed his body against Alfons', tilting his head back and baring his throat enticingly.

"One last time," he said huskily, and Alfons gulped, headache almost forgotten.

He knew that the right thing would be to insist that Edward just take it off, but he was only human.

* * *

"Ready?" he asked, one hand gripping the underside of the prosthetic, and the other braced on Edward's shoulder above the port. Edward nodded, his lip white where his teeth had sunk into it.

With a twist and a wrench the arm was out, and Alfons forced himself to ignore the choked sound Edward made. As quickly as he could he removed his hands from Edward's body, not missing the sudden awful wariness in Edward's expression.

Throat working nervously he turned away to bring the other, broken arm. They couldn't procrastinate any longer; they had to go to university, and so Edward had to have his arm properly broken.

Carrying the heavy cast-encased appendage he went to return to Edward, but paused at what he saw. Edward had curled into a miserable, defensive ball, his knees pulled up to his chest and his good arm pressed tightly against the port.

Alfons hovered anxiously, unsure of what to do. _Don't push, don't push, don't touch him._

"Go," Edward said shortly, not looking up.

"But uni-"

"Fuck university."

"Can I-"

"If the array doesn't work," Edward said tightly, suddenly meeting Alfons' eyes with his own slightly deranged-looking ones. "This is what the rest of my fucking life is going to look like."

Appalled, Alfons just stood there helplessly.

"_Go_!" Edward practically shouted.

Woodenly, feeling cold and empty, Alfons turned and left. No words of comfort existed. No denial could erase the sudden bleak picture of a possible future that Edward had just painted.

Not only for Edward, who would be doomed to be a true cripple unless they could figure out how to make the prosthetics work, but also for him. What kind of life would it be, having Edward act like this _all the time_, with no promise of reprieve?

He loved Edward. But this, misery without surcease – he didn't _want_ –

Enough, he told himself harshly. It hadn't happened yet. Borrowing trouble would get him nowhere.

"Fine," he said softly, turned on his heel, and left.

He nearly made it to university before he realized that he just didn't want to be there. Intellectually, he knew that finding something to occupy his mind would be a good thing, but in practice he just didn't have the strength. Confronting his outside life again suddenly seemed to take energy he didn't have. Everything felt meaningless, a simple stop on the way to somewhere else.

On the other hand, he couldn't stay outside. Deep, white snow blanketed the city, and with the landmarks thus camouflaged he could almost pretend he was home in Germany. Tiny flakes caught on his eyelashes and he blinked rapidly, burrowing his face further into his frost-crusted scarf.

He knew what he wanted. Turning his back on university he boarded the nearest tram towards the bay, wended its way down Oliver and High streets until he started hearing soft German spoken around him. And there, down a winding set of slightly smoky stairs, almost hidden between two brick buildings, was a tiny cafe.

He claimed a table for his own, desperately wanted to buy a pastry but found he had no appetite. Instead he wasted what must have been ten dollars on coffee, asking for a refill every time the owner seemed to be looking at him askance.

Somehow, drowning his troubles in coffee just didn't _work_.

Almost before he knew it the sun, which had come out at some point during the day, was slanting out of view in the small slits of windows near the ceiling. Nothing for it; he would just have to get home. There were molts to work on. There were _always_ molts to work on.

Jittery with caffeine overload and with an overfull bladder he made his way home, wondering what had come over him. When he reached their building he stood in front of it for a long moment and wondered if he considered it home.

He hadn't even lived here a year. It didn't compare to his life in Germany, or even to the time he spent in Transylvania. Yet... he suddenly realized that he would miss it. Would he and Edward have a house of their own in Amestris, too? Suddenly the many things that he didn't know about the world he was going to crowded his mind, whispering doubt.

What he was doing was _stupid_, he told himself. Illogical and rash and....

And oh, what a grand adventure it would be, with Edward by his side.

The door jerked open, and Edward suddenly stuck his head outside.

"Alfons? What the fuck are you standing around staring at the house for?"

He was probably smiling in a slightly strange way as he walked up the stairs, making Edward take an inadvertent step back into the building.

"You look weird," Edward muttered, searching his face. "Where were you? You're late -"

Alfons made sure they were safely in the foyer with the door closed before he wrapped his arms around Edward and just clung. The musty smell of old books surrounded Edward, who kept trying to squirm away, making aborted little sounds.

"Geez, Alfons, you're fucking freezing!" He shoved one-handedly, ineffectually, at Alfons' shoulders. "Take off your coat, I'm gonna catch cold if you don't- WAH!"

Apparently Edward didn't like being kissed on the neck when Alfons' face was still cold from the outdoors, because he finally managed to shake him off, and stood there breathing heavily and looking deliciously rumpled. Alfons smirked.

For one moment it seemed like everything would be okay. Edward got a challenging, speculative look on his face, the one that said he would very much like to have Alfons pinned beneath him _right now_, and Alfons was perfectly amenable, but-

But.

Edward's useless prosthetic still hung in a sling from his neck, and he wobbled slightly, and he looked so tired. He dropped his eyes to the floor, and the moment of possibility was gone. Edward was crippled, in his own mind if not yet in body, and he once again looked as if he half-expected Alfons to drop dead on him at any moment.

Right. That was why he kept evading Edward, he suddenly remembered.

"So," Edward said, after several moments of silence, during which Alfons took off his coat and began unwinding his scarf. "I was waiting for you. I need to go out for a bit."

"Where?" Alfons paused, and looked at his lover. Surely he wasn't going to the labs now?

"Out." Edward fidgeted, then mumbled, "I was gonna go pray."

"You're going to church?" Alfons asked, dumbfounded. The thought of Edward in a church was... very strange.

"No!" Edward said defensively, then modulated his tone. "Just... to pray." He flushed, as if embarrassed to be admitting it.

"But, why?" If Edward said he had found God, Alfons wasn't sure what he might do. Look for signs of Judgement Day, maybe.

"Like you said," Edward answered, looking miserable, "I've got nothing to lose by trying. And I'll do _anything _to-" He cut off his words with a sharp shake of his head, and didn't speak again.

Late that night, when Edward returned, Alfons searched his face in the flickering lamplight for any signs of enlightenment or relief, but all he found was a defeated sort of resignation. He wanted to ask Edward about it, but didn't quite know how to approach the subject, and wasn't sure if he felt comfortable sharing his own experiences in an attempt to draw him out.

In the end, he simply said nothing.

* * *

That Saturday they installed the last molt, and watched it being bolted into place. Most of the array was finished, and the rest of it would be completed by weaving together the existing molt beams with the new one.

"Icarus," Edward named it, gaze ostensibly focused on the molt, but in reality looking off into the distance.

"Ingrid," Alfons replied, because he knew some mythology, and almost any name would bode better than that of the ill-fated Icarus.

And then the array was complete.

* * *

**a/n:**_ O.M.G, you know what's coming up, right? If any of you want to share your thoughts/feelings/fears about what's going to happen, I would be very happy..._

_On to other business, though._

_The name of this chapter, Overture to Glory, is taken from a black-and-white Yiddish film starring Moishe Oysher, about a Jewish cantor who is lured away from his community to sing in the opera in Warsaw. One opening night he finds out immediately before the performance that his son died, loses his voice, and goes crazy. He wanders around for a few months, then finally returns to his community synagogue, where he sings the prayers one last time, and dies on the spot. (based on a true story). It's a very beautiful movie, with excellent cinematography. And I really liked the title._

_Secondly, I put a poll on my profile page, which I would appreciate you checking out. I'm seriously considering writing a sort of side-story to Mirrorworld, made up of a few oneshots and scenes with Alfons' crowd and hick!Roy that just didn't fit into the story (which is horribly long as it is). This would not come instead of updating the main story, though! I would be happy to hear your thoughts concerning how interested you'd be in reading something like that._

_Third, great thanks go to Cryo, as always, because she was really helpful and wrote me awesome commentary for this chapter (though, she always does). _

_Fourth, writing this chapter I have never regretted more not being an inspired artist. The one scene I wish I could draw and do justice to is where Ed and Alfons are under the array at night. I think it's one of my favorite scenes, so far...._

_And fifth.......OMG we're almost there!!! Sorry I'm hyper, but this is a real milestone for me. We're coming up on chapters I was working on nearly a year ago! And I really hope you enjoyed this one!_


	29. Interlude

**Interlude**

He leaned forward to tap the cabbie on the shoulder. "If you wait around for me, I'll pay you double fare."

The man agreed almost immediately, which didn't surprise Edward in the least. He was already paying a sizeable amount of money to get taken to some godforsaken patch of woods outside of town, and the cabbie would have to get himself and his horse back to town anyway. Getting paid for it would be a big bonus.

And Edward didn't really give a fuck about the money anyway. _Somebody_ would end up getting it once they were gone, though he would have to make sure to get Alfons to make some sort of arrangement to keep it from reverting to Mustang's double. The man might not be the conniving bastard his Amestrian counterpart was, but he didn't need more money.

The deal concluded to his satisfaction, Edward leaned back in the leather-bound seat, idly watching the scenery go by. Sitting wasn't nearly as strenuous as walking around, because it took the weight off his (fucking _lousy, _broken-down) fake foot, and allowed him to take the sling off his neck.

Being at rest, however, reminded him just how much he _ached_, these days. Dull pain lanced up from his left-right-_whatever_ thigh, and the muscles in his back, shoulders, and neck felt more like lead cords than anything else, tightly coiled and motion constricting.

He shifted slightly, found no comfort, and raised his fingers to dig into his neck, trying to ease some of the tension there. All he got for his trouble was sore fingers.

Fuck.

What wouldn't he give for one of Alfons' absolutely fantastic back-rubs. Just the thought of those hands working out the kinks in his shoulders nearly made him groan aloud (and it was lucky he _didn't_ make any noise, because that would have been embarrassing as hell). But he wouldn't be getting any back-rubs any time soon, because that would involve going and whining to Alfons, and Alfons had enough work as it was without Edward being even more of a drag.

Actually, he wished Alfons _hadn't_ gone to work on the array when he did, because now he kept nagging at Edward incessantly – _get some painkillers, you look awful, you should take more breaks_. Edward snorted to himself. The only thing that would probably help him at this point was general anaesthesia.

Painkillers would be ultimately useless, and in all honesty, he had sort of gotten used to the pain already. He could barely remember what it felt like _not_ to ache all over, all the time. Pain was nothing, it could be dealt with or just ignored, whatever worked.

It was just so much _easier_ to pretend he was fine when Alfons actually believed him, and resting more often was simply not an option.

His head lolled back, making the scenery vanish and the dull, gray-blue sky swim into view. The sun was out today, casting what would have been a brilliant glow over the snow back home, but here was just a pathetic struggle for cheerfulness.

The temptation to look at the sun – dimmer than the one in his world, yet brighter than anything else here – was almost overwhelming, and he closed his eyes to prevent himself from doing something so stupid. Dull it might be, but this sun could blind him just as easily as his own.

Reddish-orange light filled the space behind his eyes, and he found his thoughts turning to Al, so close, so _fucking_ close he felt like he could reach out and touch him.

If only it _worked, _if nothing else went wrong, because there were so many awful things that could happen....

And when he got right down to it, that was the reason he was sitting in somebody's cart, on his way to a hole outside of town to try and talk to a deity he didn't believe in.

It was a pretty dumb idea, all told, because even if all his troubles were caused by somebody out to get him, why should they care about some half-hearted... he felt uncomfortable even thinking the word "prayer".

None of this was about him, though, he reminded himself. It was for Al, because he couldn't live his life with the uncertainty of not knowing whether that transmutation had succeeded.

Most of all, though, it was for Alfons.

Even sitting in the buggy, outwardly relaxed, the thought of Alfons made his breathing quicken and his heart race. He would never have believed he was even capable of experiencing the kind of happiness Alfons inspired in him. Frankly, he still didn't think he deserved it, and that was why he was here.

All his life it seemed that other people went around paying for his sins, and he _couldn't_ add Alfons to that list. For the first time practically since he remembered himself an "after" featured in his thoughts: after they finished the array, after they went through, after he saw Al again... after all that, he would _live_.

Things would be different once they got to Amestris, he promised himself for the thousandth – millionth – time. He would treat Alfons _right_, the way he deserved to be treated. Anything Alfons wanted he would get, Edward swore to himself. If Alfons wanted a fucking rose garden on Venus, he would manage it, or-

He couldn't even think the words.

Hoping was foolish, wanting was useless, but the life he – they – could have together hung before his eyes like a golden promise, like Paradise. What did it matter if he did or didn't believe in a god? He had nothing to lose but self-respect, and that was a small sacrifice if it meant a chance of safety for Alfons.

And Alfons believed, right? Alfons wasn't some deluded moron, and he had practically come out and _said_ that Edward had better get some praying done.

Anything. He would do _anything_. Going out to some forest and talking to himself for a while was hardly the same type of sacrifice as becoming a dog of the military. If there was even the slightest chance that this could make a difference in the outcome, then it was worth it.

Even if he felt like a moron right now.

Well, at least he was a methodical moron. Nobody could say he hadn't done his research: a morning spent in the library, digging through different prayer-books and figuring out the gist of things had yielded results. He found some guidelines that didn't seem too hokey, and actually had a sort of internal logic. There, sitting on the floor among the stacks, he had realized that he was actually going through with it, felt really weird for a while, then steeled his resolve. He had nothing to lose and everything to gain, and he had to cover all his bases.

Sometimes he saw in Alfons' eyes that maybe the man knew even though Edward had never told him that he just couldn't go through this again. Being shunted back to square one would-

A deep shudder ran through him, and he pushed the thought away. What they didn't tell you was that chasing dreams got real old after a while, and that it was too fucking tiring a way to spend your life. Long ago someone had told him that the best dreams never became a reality.

_Bull_shit.

A dream with no end, no conclusion, was pointless and tragic and hurt enough to tear out your heart. He was sick of chasing rainbows. That fucking pot of gold had been winking at him far too long, and he was going to get it this time. The one obstacle was the inescapable fact that he was one of those people that just didn't get their happy endings. Didn't deserve them. But maybe... he hadn't tried this yet... _maybe_....

"Sir?"

Edward started and opened his eyes, having almost forgotten the man. Now that he looked around he realized they had stopped on a fairly remote patch of road, Boston a grayish smudge off to the left.

"Thanks," he grunted, and set about picking himself up and navigating back down to the ground. Shit, he moved like an old man, slow and careful and aching. Once he had moved like a cat, swift and sure on his feet. He snorted under his breath.

"I won't be long," he said, waited for the man to nod, and set off into the underbrush.

Several minutes of careful plodding through knee-deep snow that constantly threatened to ruin the precarious balance on his prosthetic brought him to a clearing with a convenient log off to one side. Almost as if it had been put there especially-

_Right_, he scoffed to himself.

Still, no reason not to make use of it. He went over to the log and brushed the snow off a section of it, slow going because he could only use one hand. When a patch had been cleared he sank down on it and forced himself to relax breath by painful misty breath, until his body's quivering had died down and the pain awakened by his walk could be pushed aside.

Inhale. Exhale. When he opened his eyes again he felt at peace (sort of), and looked around the clearing again. Nobody would see him, and there was no point in putting it off any longer.

Right. From this moment until he left the clearing, he was Edward Elric, believer extraordinaire.

_For Alfons_, he told himself firmly, _for Al, for me, _and opened his mouth.

"So. Um. Creator of the Universe and all that…if you _really-_" Shit, he wasn't supposed to express doubt in the same sentence as asking a favor. That was just…stupid. Damn it, if he had come this far to pray, he was going to fucking do it properly!

"Sorry," he said tentatively, thankful his voice didn't echo. If that cabbie was hanging around... shit, that would be embarrassing. "I'm…uh, starting over, okay?"

You were supposed to start with praise (_butter him up_, Ed thought privately, but hey, it made sense). He swallowed. "I think You made a really nice world," he said cautiously, trying to speak with capitals the way Alfons seemed to be able to. "It's… pretty. And people are…well, they're nice most of the time. I mean, they _can _be nice, only sometimes they're not. Not that I'm saying it's _Your _fault because obviously-" Fuck, he felt like a moron.

"The sun is real nice," Edward tried a different tack. "All…warm and shit." _Shit._ Given Alfons' general feelings about profanity, he didn't think it was a nice thing to do while talking to a god. "Sorry about that. And I really like water. That was a good idea."

This, however, was most definitely _not_ a good idea. Hel- Fuc- _Darn,_ what had he been thinking? He should have copied a prayer out of one of those books. Stilted and formulaic they might be, but at least they probably flowed better than making it up as he went along, and he wouldn't be stuck with all sorts of questions like when was the praise business over with and he could move on. To be fair, though, he hadn't really said all that much yet, and so wracked his brains over something to add.

"Plants!" he announced in triumph. "Plants are really nice too. That photosynthesis business was really inspired. I should try to figure out how to power alchemy by regular solar energy, not just draining a nova, that would be so-" catching himself, he flushed a bit, and dragged his thoughts back on track.

"Yeah, uh, tangent. So. You made lots of animals. Very, um, creative animals." Edward could feel his face heating up. God, if there _was- no, he had decided he would believe for now- _if He was even listening, must think him an utter moron. Well, at least he wasn't boring. Being good entertainment had to count for something.

"I'm not used to this," he said tentatively, suddenly wondering if he wasn't rambling too much. "Sorry I'm taking so long about it."

He swallowed again and forced himself to calm, looking around the slumbering forest. _Think of Alfons_.

Screw the praise. If he were God, he would have gotten the point already. Now he was supposed to make his request.

"So, um, the reason I'm bothering You is because I wanted to ask… I mean, You're supposed to be able to do anything, right? So it shouldn't be that big of a deal to make this array work out, right? I mean, what do you care –" Damn, he was getting argumentative. This was _not_ the way to go about asking for favors from deities.

"That sorta came out wrong," Edward said sheepishly. "I meant to say, please make it work? If You know– I mean, You _do_ know everything, so You know this would make me real happy, right?" There. See what good a believer he was? Why, he could practically convince himself! "And it would make Alfons happy too," he added encouragingly. "He's a great guy, much better than me. Honest." A pause.

"They say – Alfons says – You're supposed to be a-a _nice_ God, y'know? I could use just a bit of nice in my life…"

Now where the _fuck_ did that stupid lump in his throat come from? Damn, he knew this whole praying business was a bad idea; all it did was make him feel sorry for himself.

But he never left a job half done. You were supposed to finish off a prayer with giving thanks, so God would damn well get his thanks. He schooled his expression and sternly admonished his voice to lose the pathetic, pleading tone.

"I think it's rather cocky to go around thanking You for something if You haven't decided what You're going to do yet-" Wait, disquieting as the thought was, maybe God had already decided? He shouldn't assume anything. Alfons always got annoyed when Edward assumed things, so it stood to reason that God might, also.

"Uh, feel free to ignore that comment if it bothered you. So, um. Thanks for everything."

Too inadequate. What good turns had he had, lately? Oddly enough, a frightening amount. Maybe if things hadn't been going so well for him lately he would be less worried now.

"Thanks for making me meet Alfons," he elaborated, and felt a familiar, loopy sort of smile on his lips. "And making the gold mine and Boston thing work out. And if this whole fucking –sorry 'bout that– uh, thanks in advance if it all ends up okay."

Edward stood up uncertainly, looking around the still-quiet clearing. Was that it? Somehow it felt _wrong_ to him, leaving it like that. He could never believe in getting something for free, even if life was so much more complicated than Equivalent Exchange. He looked up at the sky and spoke again.

"Uh, I know I'm not supposed to make bargains, but You're supposed to understand me. So you know that it'll make me feel better." That was okay, right?

"Um. If this all works out, I promise I…I'll…" Edward bit his lip. "I promise…" Sweat broke out on his skin, clammy in the cold. Maybe this was why you weren't supposed to bargain. What thing of value could he possibly offer a god? Something told him that He wouldn't find spare limbs especially useful. But once he said he would promise something, it seemed like bad form to renege….

"I promise I won't go around saying that You don't exist," he finally said. "... As often." He paused, turned to go, then looked back at the last moment.

"And," he blurted, "if somebody has to suffer for this, let it be me." _Just not Alfons. Anything but hurting Alfons._

Edward stood a moment in the dull light, his words finally spent, wondering if something was supposed to happen now. He found himself strangely disappointed when nothing did.

With a sigh, he turned to trudge back to the buggy, back to real life where everything was dependent on his sweat and blood at the work of his own two hands. This jaunt might have been rather silly and embarrassing, but that was such a small sacrifice, negligible in the scheme of things. If it actually _worked_....

It would have been worth it.

* * *

_Sorry for leading you guys on... but I felt this was very important (and I hope, reading it, you also see why), and I promise this is the end of the "procrastination". Next chapter is the real deal XD_


	30. Through the Looking Glass

_I don't believe any emoticon will adequately convey how happy I am to be posting this chapter. I wrote it about.... 8 months ago? Rewrote it this past month, and here it finally is! _

_Now just remember - this is **NOT** the end. This is the end of Part 2. _

_I want to pause and thank everybody who helped me get this far (coughCryo lovelovelove). This specific chapter is brought to you by Michio Kaku's book _Hyperspace_ (from whose theories I lifted my descriptions). Thanks to Naatz who gave me some much-needed stylistic advice for this chapter, and to Marju who read it way-back-when (read: when it still sort of sucked) and encouraged me._

_And, of course, thanks to all of you who are reading, reviewing, and whom I think of when I should be doing homework, and then I write fic instead._

* * *

**Through the Looking Glass  
**

Among the myriads of puzzle-pieces that come together to create a gradual picture of somebody's existence from birth to death, how do you choose which are the most important?

How do you pack up a life?

Alfons stared helplessly around his room, then down to the pack in his hand, which suddenly seemed smaller than ever. What were the things that he could leave behind, without feeling that he was leaving an irreplaceable part of himself?

His first impulse when packing was to take clothes – but would he actually need them? He would probably be getting new ones, anyway.

At least he would get to keep his shoes – if only the pair he would be wearing when they crossed through. But which should he wear? His slightly worn, everyday shoes, which he refused to get rid of because they were so comfortable, or his Sunday best? When they reached the other side, would anybody even care about the sort of impression he was trying to make?

Edward might laugh at him for owning mostly white shirts, but he _liked_ them. The thought of parting with all but one was strangely disquieting.

Maybe because in a wholly new place, it was comforting to at least have familiar clothes.

Better start from the obvious, he thought. A small bundle of photos, containing pictures of himself, his entire dead family- mother, father, all still happy. His parents at their wedding. One of his cousins (with whom his correspondence had gradually faded almost to nothing), standing before their house in Lienz.

At the bottom of the pile was a photo that made him pause. He remembered the day it had been taken – Transylvania, the entire team giddy with their progress on the rockets, Oberth standing among them proudly, and off to the side, looking skittish and out-of-place was Edward.

They had almost no pictures together, Alfons suddenly realized, almost in panic. How could they have no pictures? If the worst happened – if Edward vanished from his life – if he vanished from Edward's-

What he _truly_ wanted was a picture of Edward in his arms, maybe laughing, but he would take what he could get. Quickly, he tugged open Edward's bureau drawers and dug through them, mussing the neat piles though he knew Edward would be annoyed later, until he found what he was looking for.

Then, practically skidding on the wooden floors, he tore into the other room where Edward sat meditating, startling him out of his focus.

"Fuck, Alfons," said Edward in disgust, "I _said_ I was-"

"Put this on!" Alfons practically threw the red shirt at him, decided it would take Edward too long by himself, and proceeded to assist him in stripping off his current shirt.

"What's wrong with you?" Edward squirmed and wiggled and generally was utterly useless in the dressing department, but Alfons finally managed to get him into the shirt and paused, running his hands over the bright, vivid fabric.

"God." He pulled Edward into a breathless kiss. Edward was just getting into it when he broke away.

"What. The fuck, Alfons!" Edward whined. "You burst in here like your ass is on fire, you want me to put on the shirt that gets you horny, and now you're going off and-"

"Come on!" Alfons grabbed his good wrist, and tugged him to his feet.

"Come _where_?" Edward demanded, digging in his heels. "I want to go back to meditating, you just ruined two hours worth of work!"

"Photographer," Alfons insisted, and that surprised Edward enough to allow Alfons to drag him from the room.

* * *

There, he thought in satisfaction a few hours later, as he added the new photographs to the pile. Now there was a new picture of the two of them standing shoulder to shoulder (which was the closest they could decently get to each other without raising uncomfortable questions). The black-and-white hardly captured Edward's beauty, Alfons thought privately, but even the severe picture, with the marginally sullen look on his lover's face, reflected some of Edward's charm. It was a good picture.

On top of the photographs he placed the penknife he had received from his cousin Max for his tenth birthday, a favorite record of his – Berlin Symphony Orchestra playing Strauss, his oft-darned mittens that his mother had knitted him when he was a child.

Next came his prized books: the dog-eared Goddard, some of Einstein's work (he shuddered to think of a world bereft of Einstein), and several of his notebooks. He decided to keep the exorcism book Edward had bought him, and slid it into the bag with the others. It was the only gift his lover had ever bought him unsolicited.

Then again, he hadn't ever really bought anything for Edward, had he?

As far as he knew, Edward wasn't taking anything with him apart from the clothes on his back. It hurt to think that Edward might just not want to remember this world at _all_, and Alfons suddenly wondered. If he had ever bought Edward a gift, would Edward be taking it through?

_Stupid_, he admonished himself, shaking his head. Edward was taking _him_. What more could he possibly ask?

Looking around the room he spotted the paper tacked above their bed. True to his word, and much to Edward's embarrassment, he had hung the calculations Edward had once done of the wavelength for his eye color. Carefully, so as not to tear the paper, Alfons took it off the wall, folded it up, and packed it.

Almost as an afterthought but not really, because maybe he had always intended to put it in, came a Testament. A little extra help would certainly do no harm.

Restless, he pushed aside the pack and started pacing across the room. Everything around him seemed suddenly thrown into sharp relief, so _real_, that he wondered helplessly what he thought he was doing.

With a soft _whump_ he flopped onto the edge of the bed and put his head in his hands. For one wild, hysterical moment he wanted to call the whole thing off, go back to Germany which was safe and normal and where he _belonged_, the home which he would definitely, definitely never see again-

It was surprising to realize that his throat was clogged with a sob that seemed intent on clawing its way out.

He couldn't cry, he thought furiously. Men didn't cry. More than that, he couldn't risk Edward seeing him like this. It would just add misplaced guilt to their problems.

The effort to regulate his breathing made his lungs ache sharply and before he knew it he was coughing, the taste of blood sour in his throat.

When Edward came to check on him, it was easy to pretend the tears in his eyes were from the pain and nothing more.

-

Evening fell, and there was nothing left to take. Dishes? Might break. Furniture? Too big. It was sobering to realize how _disconnected_ he was, though until the moment of packing he hadn't realized it. Most of the things he cared about – people, places, things, were back in Germany, and he had already left Germany far behind him.

They ordered in food for dinner because there was no longer any reason to save money. It certainly looked tasty enough, but Alfons found himself picking at it nervously. Tomorrow, he thought, cutting his meat into smaller and smaller pieces, finally shredding it entirely and rendering it into mush.

Across the table Edward seemed to be faring no better, aimlessly pushing the food from one side of his plate to the other with his fork. A few times it looked like Edward was going to say something, but he never did.

"I'm giving up," Alfons finally announced, pushing his plate away. With what looked like a sigh of relief, Edward did likewise. He started collecting the dishes, but Edward put a hand on his arm.

"Screw the dishes," he said, "we're not coming back here."

True. Alfons gently lowered them to the table, his stomach churning uncomfortably. They wouldn't have to wash the dishes anymore. Or dust, or mop, or do laundry in this house.

"Okay," he said, his voice distant, still staring at the dirty dishes. "So what do we do now?"

Edward ran his fingers through his hair and looked around. "I dunno. We can go to bed, I guess."

"It's only eight."

"Yeah." Edward fidgeted. "Uh... we could... you know."

Amused by Edward's uncharacteristic dodging of the subject, Alfons smiled. "You want to put your new prosthetic in now?" There was absolutely _no_ chance of him touching Edward unless he was in full possession of all his limbs – both real and fake.

"Yeah."

At least he could be thankful that Edward didn't flinch away from his hands, and allowed him to help uncouple the old ones and replace them with the new. As he set the pathetic, broken prosthetics aside, Alfons found himself hoping wildly that he would never have to touch them again.

Then he pressed the new leg into its socket, twisted until it clicked, and watched as Edward rotated the ankle and moved the toes to check it out.

Next came the arm, and when it clicked into place – Edward came alive, the light returning to his eyes, the strength to his posture. It was as if all his self-respect lay contained in those two limbs and what they represented, and Alfons wished it wasn't so. It shouldn't have to be that way.

Instead of dwelling on it, he just waited quietly while Edward stretched and tested his arm. Maybe it was his imagination, but Edward's movements seemed strangely stiff, as if he wasn't putting his whole self into them.

"Let's do it in bed," he blurted when Edward finally scooted closer, skating his fingers over his shirt. If it was their last night here, he wanted it to be a _good_ one.

Moving towards the bedroom it looked like everything would be alright – the feel of Edward's hands on his body was welcome and, more than anything, _familiar. _Edward was more responsive than usual, which Alfons found quite nice.

But that night ended up being far from perfect. Edward seemed obsessed with his name, repeating it in a breathless mantra against his skin, which only served to key him up more. As it was he couldn't shake the feeling of trying to memorize Edward's feel and taste, and he had to _stop_ because he knew Edward knew he was doing it. The kisses were too harsh, their movements too erratic for enjoyment. The nausea from before started up again, this time worse, and though Alfons tried to push it away- _it's only nerves_ – he didn't quite manage.

Finally he lay on his back, spent yet somehow unsatisfied, while Edward busied himself with picking at the feathers poking through a pillowcase in his arms. He wondered idly how Edward always had so much spare energy.

"Fuck," Edward finally said, throwing the pillow across the room in frustration. "We're both so afraid it's our last night together that we can't even have good sex. That is so pathetic."

Under other circumstances Alfons might have been tempted to laugh, but he couldn't work up any merriment. Edward's words were too true.

After a while Edward tired, went to get the pillow, and lay down with every intention of going to sleep. Alfons lay awake for a while longer until he dozed off, but even then he slept badly. The biggest obstacle to a good night's sleep was Edward, whose restlessness manifested itself in kicking Alfons repeatedly and hogging the blankets.

Disturbing, abstract dreams tormented Alfons between periods of waking, and it seemed that every time he woke up he felt sicker, until sometime near morning he found himself stumbling to the bathroom to throw up. The coughing made his lungs wake up and clamor to join in, and soon enough he was choking on blood and praying he wouldn't cough up another worm.

That thought, of course, was enough to set him gagging once more, just when he thought he might be finished with it. Edward's hand, appearing out of nowhere to rub gentle circles over his back calmed him and saved him from what seemed like an endless cycle that left his mouth, throat, and lungs aching.

"Are you okay?" Edward asked in concern, when it seemed like he was done.

"Nerves," he gasped, and tried to surreptitiously wipe his mouth without Edward noticing, though it was probably a futile effort. He slumped back, leaning against the cool tiles of the wall, and after a moment Edward joined him, shifting close to Alfons and resting his head on his shoulder. Soft, human fingers found his own and shyly curled around them.

"You need to sleep," Alfons said into the echoing silence of the night, watching the edge of the pool of light spilling out of the bathroom. He tightened his fingers around Edward's, his heart speeding up. Lethargy swept at him, but he was sure he wouldn't be able to sleep now, anyway. Maybe soon.

"I know," Edward said softly, his voice just a bit dreamy. "Come with me."

Deliberately, Alfons shifted and shrugged his shoulders, making Edward sit up and look at him curiously. Regarding him silently, taking in the dark bags under his eyes, the worry-line between his eyebrows that was probably permanent by now, the blank lack of expression on his face that spoke more than anything of bone-deep exhaustion, and realized what was bothering him.

He reached out, lay one hand against Edward's cheek, caressed him slowly.

"You don't look happy," he observed.

"Huh?"

"You're going _home_, Edward. Isn't this what you've been trying to do for four years now?"

"I..." Edward looked breathless, and so frightened it made Alfons' stomach twist. He put both his hands on Edward's shoulders and shook him slightly.

"Edward! You're going home, and I'm coming with you, don't you understand that? Be _happy_, or what was the point of all this?"

Now Edward was wavering, biting his lip, so Alfons shook him again.

"_Smile_," he demanded hoarsely, swallowing around his aching throat.

Tentatively, wavering around the edges and shaky, his eyes a watery gold, Edward smiled. It was raw and terrified and vulnerable, but it was honest, and -

Hopeful.

"I'm going home," Edward said, trying out the words as if they were in a strange language. "You're coming with me."

* * *

Morning was strange as they fought their way awake when the clock went off. It was late, nine o'clock, and though the night had been fairly sleepless they couldn't sleep in any longer. They had places to be.

Alfons' eyes felt gritty and his tongue was like sandpaper as he stumbled to the bathroom to wake himself up. He swallowed around the pain in his throat and the faint taste of blood still on his tongue, and splashed cold water on his face.

Edward wandered around the room sleepily, silently putting on a shirt and pants. When Alfons was as awake as he was going to get, he shaved Edward and helped him tie his hair back. He pulled the soft golden strands into a proper ponytail, high up the way Edward liked it, instead of the messy one at the nape of his neck that he had made do with when his prosthetic was out of commission.

While he got dressed Edward went downstairs to heat up water. Alfons listened with half an ear as he buttoned up his shirt, made a split-second decision to wear his good shoes, and combed his hair.

Then he went into the other bedroom, opened the top drawer of the bureau, and dug around for the last thing missing from his costume. At the back of the drawer, behind his clothes, were the two pistols they had kept from their time out west. Checking them was not quite necessary, as he kept them clean and oiled, but he did so anyway. Then he loaded them, buckled on his holster belt, and stuck both of them in.

He wasn't quite sure what he was afraid of, but with the two guns at his sides he felt calmer.

In the kitchen Edward was staring morosely at a piece of buttered toast, as if wondering what it was for. Alfons sat across from him where his own food was waiting and was about to show him what you were supposed to do with a perfectly good piece of toast, when he realized that he wasn't sure he had the necessary mental energy to actually eat it.

"You need to eat," he said instead.

Edward snorted. "Look who's talking."

"I will if you will."

With a small sigh Edward picked up the bread and took a few halfhearted bites. Alfons did likewise. The bread was like ash on his tongue, and stuck in a throat so dry he could barely swallow. In the end, they both gave up and just drank some tea. The dirty dishes from breakfast joined the mess left over from the night before. Cleaning would have been a good way to work off the excess energy, but like Edward had said – it was unnecessary.

"I guess that's it," Edward said, looking around the room. His expression was a bit strange, almost – sad?

Despite how often Edward professed to hate everything about this world, Alfons found himself wondering if he wouldn't miss it. Just a bit.

There was no point in raising the issue, though. "Shall we?"

Side by side they walked towards the door, so close they were brushing together. He wasn't sure who leaned in first, but suddenly kissing seemed the most natural thing in the world to be doing. All the pent-up energy that hadn't found any release last night suddenly flared between them, as they tugged and strained and tried to get as close as they possibly could. Edward's breath against his lips was hot and heavy, awakening a pleasant burning in the pit of his stomach that spread slowly outwards. One human hand explored his body, the prosthetic holding him close. He ran his hands down Edward's back and lower, making the man arch against him with a soft sound.

Edward filled his senses, made him forget that there was a hostile world surrounding them, and he loved it, loved what he could do to Edward in return.

The sharp sound of a bell lanced through them, and Edward jerked away in startlement.

"What the fuck..." he managed, licking his lips and looking around almost wildly.

"It's the doorbell," Alfons said stupidly, after the second time it rang. Strangely enough, he couldn't remember ever having heard it ring before. They didn't get many visitors.

They looked at each other, and finally he stepped forward to open the door. That was what you were supposed to do when somebody rang, right?

Only after he had begun the movement did he realize what he had just done. _Shit. Oh shit._

The door swung open to show Russel on the doorstep. Alfons wondered, heart sinking, what they looked like. He knew for a fact that his hair was in disarray, and Edward looked just a little glazed and flushed and thoroughly kissed, and he stood there helpless, the weight of the guns heavy and horribly visible on his hips.

Russel stood silent, taking them both in, a strange, disquieting expression on his face. Analytical.

Alfons found himself wondering desperately if he would be capable of shooting somebody to keep their secret, to ensure that Edward made it safely home.

"Hello," Russel finally said, looking between the two of them. "You haven't been coming to university. Nobody's seen you guys in a while. We were worried." His voice was oddly strained.

"We've been working," Alfons managed. "Michaels said we had to work harder, or he would cut our pay."

Awkward silence settled between them, and for once, Edward didn't try to fill it.

"And," Alfons continued, "Edward's arm was broken...." He trailed off when Russel's eyes strayed to Edward's two functioning arms. With his sleeves rolled up, the difference in color between his real skin and the silicone was disturbingly obvious.

"Well, it _was_," he said lamely.

"I see," said Russel.

"We need to go," Edward cut in, his voice rougher than it needed to be. "We have a lot of work."

"It's good of you to drop by," Alfons said, trying to soften Edward's words. "We should be back in university within the next few days," he lied. He wanted to make a joke about placating the professors, but had no idea what to say.

"I see." Russel didn't move for a moment, then gave his head a little shake. "I suppose we had nothing to worry about, then. I'll see you around."

Alfons bid him a slightly strangled farewell, and carefully closed the door behind his retreating back.

"He knows," he said bleakly.

"He suspects," Edward answered. Then, "We can't come back here."

"I know." Even if the array didn't work, they couldn't return. They would have to run. "Maybe we should take some money out of the bank."

"Good idea."

They were talking so calmly, so rationally, as if none of it mattered. Maybe it didn't, though Alfons wondered if, like him, Edward's calm was just a thin veneer over panic.

"He doesn't know where the lab is, right?" Edward asked, just the tiniest waver in his voice.

"I don't think so."

A few more minutes ticked by until they finally threw off the stupor. There was a slight chance that Russel wouldn't bring the police down on them, or that even if he did, they could keep the true situation hidden. They had taken precautions, after all.

That chance wasn't enough to capitalize on, though. With that thought Alfons finally found himself galvanized into movement, and started wrapping himself up, using the coat to hide the guns. Soon enough they were both ready, and Alfons hefted the pack onto his shoulder and stepped outside. He waited on the doorstep while Edward locked the door, looking up and down the street warily. It was mostly empty of people. The once-pristine snow had been plowed and piled up in heaps on the sides of the road, now turning gray and ugly. There were a few loiterers, but nobody who looked suspicious, or like the police who might now be after them.

"Done," Edward said, pocketing the key.

On the way to the labs they made a stop at the bank, together because neither of them wanted to be separated. They made a relatively small withdrawal, only a hundred dollars, because they didn't want to alert anybody who might be looking for them. Alfons stuck the bundle of dollars in the pack with everything else, and shouldered it.

Now, only the array was left.

* * *

The lab was echoing and empty as it hadn't been since they had first checked it out. Now, though, instead of embodying a potential for creation, it radiated dormant power waiting to be directed.

Alfons ran his eyes over the metal scaffolding up and across the walls, the network of beams and poles supporting the mirrors and prisms, the tables of machinery, the generators sleeping silently against the walls and finally – the molts themselves, cylindrical and sleek and looking towards the center of the room.

Everything here was the product of their research, their work, and he felt a rush of pride. Whatever the ultimate outcome might be, they had achieved this much.

Today they were completely alone but for Jacobs who still kept up his watch outside. There was slight danger, there; the men knew they were running experiments. Alfons only hoped none of them would be curious enough to check. Normally their slight nosiness was welcome, but now it could lead to disastrous results.

After surveying the room Edward looked at him. "Let's run one last test."

Nodding, even though they had tested the array thousands of times, Alfons went over to the switchboard and turned on the generators, then the molts themselves. The soft whine of the great machines filled the silence, and he waited while Edward squinted and strained and tried to make out the shape of the array in the light. They wouldn't waste any of the mist on a test-run, though Edward said they had enough for more than forty-eight hours of steam.

"It's per- ready," Edward said, stumbling over his words slightly. Alfons left the switchboard and went towards him, grabbing the pack in his left hand on the way. He came to a stop a few paces from Edward.

"Is this it?" he asked, his eyes locked on Edward's unable to look away.

"Yeah," Edward whispered, his lips hardly moving.

Their path was set. The thought was strange, but right now his greatest hope was that this would be their last day on this world.

If things went right, he would be spending the rest of his life in a different universe.

If things went wrong....

Edward abruptly took a step forward and clung to him, burying his face in Alfons' chest, his arms wrapped tightly around his body in a grip so tight it almost hurt. The thrum of Edward's pulse was almost audible, and Alfons felt his own heart speed as he held him, pulling him as close as he could.

If things went wrong....

He wondered, suddenly if this was their last day together, what would he regret? What words had he never said that could come to haunt him, later? What was the one imperative thing Edward absolutely had to hear before he stepped up on that platform?

Nothing, Alfons realized as he pressed his nose to Edward's hair. There was nothing he could say that Edward didn't already know. There were no secrets, only wild hopes for a possible future.

"No regrets," he murmured, and Edward tensed and looked up at him, then his expression softened.

"No," Edward answered tightly.

They stepped away from each other and Edward turned to the array, his focus now completely on it.

"Let's get going," he said, a brisk, businesslike tone in his voice. "Activating it might take a while."

"How will I know?" Alfons asked, too loudly, and his voice echoed plaintively.

"You'll know." With that, Edward walked toward the massive sphere. He only hesitated a moment to glance back at Alfons, before he entered and took his place in the center. Dots of light danced wildly over his skin before coming to rest on his forehead, chest, arms and legs – the focal points connecting him to the array.

Back at the control board, Alfons hesitated a moment before turning on the steam, captivated. Edward was beautiful, he thought bemusedly, and standing in the center of the array, the light making arcane designs on his body – more than ever, he looked like a being from another world. It made him feel small and mundane.

He looked away, and flicked the switch. A soft hissing joined the hum of the generators, and white, translucent steam seeped up from beneath the floor. If he hadn't known that it was mixed with Edward's blood he would never have guessed it, because there seemed to be nothing strange about it in the least, aside from its ability to make the array jump into sudden focus, and partly obscure Edward from view. One last quick glance assured Alfons that the controls were all set, so he left them alone, and advanced towards the middle of the room.

Picking a spot on the floor that wasn't too close to the array, yet also not so far that a quick sprint wouldn't get him there in seconds, he settled down on the floor to wait.

Because of the frightening amounts of energy involved it had been impossible to do a proper test run. They knew that three-dimensional alchemy worked in general, but that was about it. Whether or not the array functioned as planned, or functioned at all, was something they had yet to discover.

Oddly enough, though, Alfons was more worried about just getting the array activated than the second stage of actually opening the portal itself. A task so immense was far beyond his imagination's capacity, and it was difficult to worry about something he couldn't even envision. Harnessing the energy of a supernova millions of light-years away... it sounded like too great an endeavor for humans, but then, he had no concept of alchemy at all.

The possible results of the array malfunctioning, however, were far too easy to contemplate.

His legs crossed, he sat ramrod-straight on the floor, one fist clenched around the strap of the pack next to him, straining his eyes for any possible change in the array.

* * *

Several hours later found him more relaxed, mostly by virtue of the sheer lack of activity from the array. Keeping himself at constant alert took more energy than he had, and slowly he found himself leaning back a bit, resting his eyes every so often. It wasn't like the portal would sneak up on him. He would definitely notice if something happened.

Far more worrisome was the fact that so far the array hadn't _done_ anything, not so much as blip or crackle. He knew it was complicated alchemy, knew it would take time; Edward had warned him of that.

But what if...?

Shaking his head to clear it, he forced himself to calm, and continued to silently regard the dormant array.

* * *

His back hurt. Alfons shifted, trying to stretch out the kinks, or at least find a position on the hard cement floor that didn't make him ache any worse. Stretching out his legs every so often, or walking around a bit helped keep them from getting too cramped, but the solution wasn't very effective. He had contemplated leaning on the pack but it wasn't soft or flat enough to make a comfortable cushion.

How was Edward _doing_ it? He had barely moved in the past six hours, and it made Alfons ache sympathetically just to look at him. It must have something to do with all that meditation Edward had been doing, but it still seemed inhuman to him. And shouldn't he be hungry by now? Despite his nerves, Alfons was starting to feel acutely the lack of breakfast, and the soon-to-be lack of lunch.

They should have brought sandwiches. In the back room there was probably some food in the small icebox, but getting it would involve leaving the main room. He wouldn't leave. Hunger could be ignored.

* * *

Another thing he hadn't quite anticipated was being horribly, mind-numbingly, _bored_. Somehow, he thought as he rested his chin morosely on his hand, he never would have thought that his great adventure to a parallel universe would start so dully. It never happened that way in novels, and he had to admit a certain amount of disappointment, though he knew it was silly.

He tried playing blind tic-tac-toe against himself, but found that even more boring than just doing nothing. Sadly, there weren't really any other forms of amusement available. Would it be worth risking leaving to get a pack of cards?

Doubtful. With his luck, the second he turned his back something significant would probably happen, and he wouldn't miss it for the world.

Instead, he pulled out one of his revolvers and spent the next half hour absently loading and unloading it, his finger carefully off the trigger, and spinning the barrel idly, trying to calculate the rotation speed in his head.

* * *

Ha! He had the perfect plan. All he had to do was get up and walk off nonchalantly, _pretending_ he was going to get a pack of cards, and then something would definitely happen, but he wouldn't miss it because he would only be pretending. Contemplating this brilliant idea amused Alfons for a while more, though he couldn't quite work up the guts to try.

The disappointment if nothing happened would be too crushing.

* * *

Another attempt at distraction, this time from the fact that many hours had passed, and the patches of sunlight on the floor had been moving steadily across the room: he started singing the 'Beer Bottle Song' quietly under his breath, counting down from five hundred. To make it interesting, he skipped all prime numbers and any number that could be divided by seven.

He kept his eyes closed so he wouldn't have to look at Edward who had barely moved since the morning, and at the dormant array surrounding him. Bleak thoughts persisted, though he did his best to fight them off. What if, what if...

It _had _to work. He knew, without a shadow of doubt, that this was a blow Edward would never recover from, and though he tried to tell himself differently, tried to convince himself that they could have a future here, too-

It wasn't himself he had to convince, though. Edward had to believe it, too.

Shaking his head, as if the movement could expel the thoughts from his mind, Alfons opened his eyes and turned them back to the center of the room. Nothing about this array was simple. Alchemy this complex would take time to activate. There was nothing to worry about.

There wasn't.

* * *

Darkness had been steadily encroaching for a while now, but Alfons had put off turning on the lights for as long as possible. Turning on the lights meant the day was coming to an end, meant that the time when they had to confront the possibility of failure was coming nearer, but finally he could no longer stand watching the eerily glowing array, with Edward only a dark smudge in the center.

The lights came on, bathing the room in a cold aura. By the harsh fluorescent the array was diminished, and Edward looked drawn and wan.

Against his will, contingency plans were starting to flit through his mind, each one more ridiculous than the last.

_What if it didn't work_?

How was he supposed to keep a hold on his life if his goals were dashed, and moreso, if _Edward's_ were?

Edward believed it would work – or did he? Wasn't Edward waiting for the worst to happen?

No. The feeling welled up from inside of him, instinctive denial that this could be their fate. To have come this far, only to fail... it could only be a cruel joke, and Alfons refused to believe God would subject them to that. Even in terms of science, for somebody to suffer as many blows as Edward had was practically statistically ridiculous. They would succeed.

* * *

The scuff of a footstep echoing through the room snapped Alfons out of his ruminations. Instinctively he glanced to the array, where Edward should be, and felt a momentary panic when he realized it was empty. Before he knew it he was on his feet, heart racing, only to realize that Edward had simply left his position and was slowly shuffling across the room towards him.

_No_, he thought, a feeling akin to terror threatening to swamp him, because the Edward walking towards him wasn't _his_ Edward, it was an empty-eyed, miserable, shattered remnant of a human being-

Edward paused before him, swaying slightly, and looked up at Alfons with an expression so far beyond despair that Alfons couldn't even define it.

What could he possibly say? This was the end, he saw it in his mind's eye: another day of trying, maybe yet another, but the result would be the same. Their work was meaningless, their attempt pathetic. They would be going nowhere, and how was he supposed to keep from losing Edward?

He opened his mouth, and what came out was, "Come on, you should eat something."

There was no response; for all Edward reacted, he might have been talking to a wall.

"I don't know what your problem is," Alfons suddenly found himself saying. The words tumbled out of him before he could stop them, and he had no clue what the hell he thought he was saying, or why it would help. "You didn't honestly think it was going to be this easy, did you?"

At that Edward reacted, looking up at him incredulously, and Alfons realized that no, he hadn't yet shattered. There was still fight left in him.

"Easy?" Edward asked, his voice cracking, his lips hardly moving, looking like he might break down any second.

Alfons rested a hand on Edward's shoulder and steered him over to the table, urging him to sit down. Now was the proper time to raid the icebox. "Well, yeah," he said. "We're talking about opening a portal into the fourth dimension. And anyway, you yourself said that this was a new sort of alchemy. It's probably just going to take you a little bit to figure it out, that's all." He suddenly remembered a forgotten bar of chocolate that should be somewhere under the mess on the table. A few seconds of rummaging unearthed it.

"Oh," Edward said weakly, not resisting as Alfons pressed the chocolate into his hands.

"Now, I'm going to go ask whoever's guarding to pick up some food for us. You eat the chocolate, okay?" Alfons felt somehow disconnected from his body. He had no clue how this conviction had appeared, where the confident joviality of his tone had come from.

"Uh huh," Edward said, sounding confused, and stared at the chocolate as if he had never seen it before. Alfons hurried off, and when he cast a glance back, Edward had brought the bar to his mouth and was chewing on it slowly.

He returned to find that Edward had eaten about half of it, and was looking less like a wax figure and more like himself.

"You're right," Edward said, forcing a smile. "I guess it's dumb to expect it to work immediately, right? Yeah…"

"I'm sure you'll make it work," Alfons replied. "Just give it a bit more time."

Clenching his fists, Edward suddenly looked at him again, new determination in his eyes. "I'll fucking make it work," he snarled. "I'll figure it out, nevermind how long it takes."

At the words, Alfons' heart plummeted. Determination was good, but he realized that he had just cemented a new obsession inside Edward, and ached over it.

After they had eaten and curled up in blankets for the night, he had nightmares of watching Edward waste away slowly, year after year, unable to ever let go, never finding a solution.

He slept very badly, and found himself awake before Edward, cold and cramped. Though his lover was still asleep, he was whimpering quietly in a way that showed that Edward's night had probably been no better than his own.

Alfons sat up groggily and rubbed at his eyes, trying to force his brain into action.

They had to be missing something. Something obvious and natural that would overcome the last barrier.

The physical components of the array were all there, all the way down to Edward's blood mixed into the steam in order to help catalyze the reaction. Heck, there were even dots of Edward's blood strategically placed inside the molts to help with that. And Edward had assured him that it didn't matter that the array was made out of light and not a tangible substance, because the activation was all in the head, anyway.

_Think, Alfons_, he told himself. He wasn't good at these leaps of faith, not the way Edward was, but this idea had been _his_. It had been his logic that had led to this breakthrough, and so he felt a responsibility to understand why it wasn't working.

Something about the array, except he had no idea _what_. After all, it was torturously complicated; he himself would never be able to visualize it properly and –

Alfons paused, backtracked, and examined the thought more closely.

Not only would _he_ not be able to perceive all the different components at work, he doubted _any_ normal human brain could. But Edward's brain had so much untapped potential….

And there was one sure-fire, simple way they knew of to unlock that knowledge, and it could usually be found at the bottom of a bottle.

Casting one quick glance at Edward and gauging that he would probably sleep another hour, Alfons slipped on his shoes and hurried out.

His first impulse was to go home, where some of the ill-fated vodka should still be left over, but he paused. Going home could be dangerous. If Russell had decided to act on his suspicions, he'd better stay away from home, and not risk leading anybody to the warehouse. It would buy them at least that much more time.

Changing his mind, he went straight for a speakeasy. Buying alcohol at this hour of the morning was irregular, but he managed to acquire some whisky of dubious quality. Hurrying back to the lab, he kept the bottle hidden under his coat, tight against his body. Anybody who so much as glanced at him made his heart race with nervousness, and he tried not to look back and check if he was being followed. Acting suspiciously was sure to attract attention. The whole thing took far longer than he had anticipated, making him chew his lip in frustration.

Guards had changed at some point between when he had left and when he returned, so Dawes was there to greet him. Paranoia gripped him: had anybody glanced in on them at night? How close to each other had he and Edward actually slept, and could it be blamed on the chill?

Back inside he found Edward already awake, and was quite sure he wasn't imagining the sudden relief on his face when he saw Alfons.

Still gripped by the fear of discovery, Alfons didn't greet him with any sort of touch, but sat down next to their pile of blankets where Edward was still ensconced.

"Where were you?" Edward asked, slightly groggily.

"I had an idea." The bottle made a soft _chink _sound when he set it down on the floor beside them, and he didn't miss the perplexed look Edward shot it. "Let's eat something first."

They didn't have much – just cold, slightly stale bread and smoked salmon, but they needed to eat. A full stomach made everything seem more cheerful.

"So?" Edward asked impatiently, looking significantly perked up. "What's the big secret?"

"I was thinking," Alfons said slowly, just a bit embarrassed to field his theories now that Edward was awake and alert. "Maybe in order to activate the array you need to open your mind a bit more. There's something," he hesitated over 'strange', instead- "_different_ about your brain. That's what causes you problems when you're drunk, right? It's too fast for you. You've got too much going on."

He felt sort of awkward analyzing Edward like that, and the intense look the man was giving him wasn't really helping.

"I just thought that maybe in order to activate the array properly you _need_ to have more going on..." he trailed off into silence.

Edward didn't say anything, opened his mouth, closed it, and finally shook his head. "You know, Alfons, you're really fucking smart," he said, genuine admiration in his tone. That admiration warmed Alfons to the point where for one moment he forgot that it was winter out, and he looked away and tugged at his collar a bit in embarrassment.

Edward didn't let him stew, though, and pulled Alfons into a rough hug. Edward wasn't afraid of who might see, or what might happen, and Alfons allowed himself to be sucked into the illusion of his strength.

Somewhere, deep down, he still believed that Edward could do _anything_.

Staying close to him, Edward pulled the bottle over, contemplated it for a moment, then took a few carefully controlled swigs.

"Ick," he said, grimacing, but the alcohol did its job. Over the next few minutes he could practically _see_ Edward's eyes glazing just a bit, losing their sharp focus on the world, though Edward didn't move them from Alfons' own.

_This _was what he had been fighting for, Alfons realized. They backed each other up, each one stepping in to cover the other's weaknesses, like two graphs twining endlessly about each other.

Edward was the sine to his cosine.

Turning away from him slightly, Edward looked at the array intently, barely blinking.

"Ya panimayu," he said, wide-eyed, the beginnings of a grin on his face. "I get it..." As if in a daze, Edward wandered towards the array, his eyes not moving from the glowing lines. Alfons felt a stab of disquiet, disliking Edward's single-minded focus. It was foolish to regard the array as any sort of competition, but....

It wasn't, Alfons thought, suddenly calm. He knew suddenly, without a doubt, that he would be there for Edward, and Edward would do the same for him. There was no competition.

-

A strange calm settled over him, as he once again sat down to watch Edward within the humming array, motionless as the day before. Yet the feeling in the air was tense and excited, loaded in a way that it hadn't been yesterday, and Alfons scrutinized the glowing lines for any hint of activity.

The calm gave him enough peace of mind to take out one of his notebooks and reviewed, solving problems in his head while he kept one eye out and his ears cocked for anything out of the ordinary.

Some time in the middle of calculating the electric potential of a sphere, he found himself distracted by a sharp _crackle_. It took him a moment to realize why this was so out of place, and then he sat bolt upright, instantly alert. Their machines whirred, clicked, and hummed, but they most definitely did not crackle.

There - !

He jumped to his feet, the notebook falling forgotten to the floor, and stared at the array, mouth open. Small sparks of electricity were running over Edward's body and spreading outward along the lines of the array.

It was impossible – it was beautiful – _it was working_.

This alchemy was utterly different from what Edward had demonstrated with the small metal sphere months ago, and now Alfons understood why Edward had seemed so embarrassed about it. These weren't a few pathetic little blue sparks. Yellow lightnings made the red lines of the molt beams blaze golden, burning from within, lighting up symbols across an array which shone under its own power, brightening up the lab, throwing vivid, dancing shadows across the floor.

At the same time the light converged on Edward's body in what looked rather like an extreme state of electrocution. It couldn't be as painful as it looked, though, because despite the intense concentration on his face and the sweat beading on his skin, Alfons could detect the hint of a grin of success.

Wild jealousy suddenly awoke inside him, so sharp he could almost taste it. Edward was beautiful and _powerful_ and he _wanted it too_. To feel the energy running through his body, knowing he was controlling it, to change the world with his very thoughts. He swallowed convulsively, mouth dry. Barring having the capability himself, he found a strange satisfaction at the fact that he possessed Edward, who _could_ do these things. It was beyond ardor, beyond passion, so much more than simple desire, a violent fluttering in his stomach, his lungs, his heart that threatened to overcome him.

This achievement was greater than rocketry, went further than space travel, than the technical building of the array: he had put Edward back together, enabled him to become _this_.

Dazzled by the light he stood motionless, watching wordlessly. Slowly, analytical thoughts began to trickle through his mind, as his brain awoke from its stupor. _Inefficient_, he thought. If the array had been perfect, there shouldn't have been enough spare energy to generate such a light show, beautiful though it might be.

Suddenly Edward cried out, the sound thin and high, jangling along Alfons nerves, nearly making his heart stop. It was practically the first sound Edward had made since the morning. His whole body tensed and he threw his head back, golden hair crackling about his head like a halo, arms stretched out to either side of his body, hands grasping at nothing.

This probably heralded the second stage of the array, where Edward would reach across endless light-years to harness the energy of a dying star, channeling it to-

The world exploded in light.

-

He came to face-down on the floor, utterly disoriented, his ears ringing, and black spots flashing in his vision. For a moment he didn't know where he was, how long had passed, _what happened_- where was Edward?

Frantic, Alfons scrambled to his feet, trying to make sense of the wild, strobing lights around him. His vision flashed white and yellow, interspersed with fleeting pitch-black shadows scattered across the room. All color had faded before the onslaught, leaving the scene rendered in harsh blacks and whites. They were still in Boston, though, the lab still stood around him, and in the center -

The array now was a far cry from how it had looked before. Now it was practically a living thing, shining fiercely from within like a miniature sun. The defining lines inside the array had vanished, leaving nothing but a massive white-yellow sphere, tenuously anchored by the thin red streaks of the molt beams.

_Edward, Edward, where was he?_

Squinting and straining, trying to shield his eyes from the glare, he finally managed to make out Edward's dark form in the center of the sphere, and he was _floating, _his body one long arc of tension. He took a step forward, captivated, though he dared not get too close to the massive bolts of lightning the array was throwing out.

Oh God, it was _real_, it was _working_, and he was part of the greatest achievement of his-

"Holy Mother of _God!"_

Alfons whirled around in surprise. It took him several seconds to make sense of what he was seeing in the flickering light, and when he understood, could only gape in incomprehension at the group of men standing incongruously near the entrance of the room.

Some of them looked vaguely familiar – Aisenyev? Englemann? but there were too many people, and – were those police?

Gripped by a panicked stupor Alfons could only watch mutely. He was saved only by the fact that the people who had just entered seemed preoccupied (_terrified_) by the array, and weren't particularly inclined to come any closer to it than they had to.

_Have to do something_.

They wanted to interfere. Somebody was waving his arms at Alfons, shouting unintelligible words.

_What should I do_?

What would Edward do? He looked instinctively to the array, but Edward was completely out of it; he would be incapable of helping.

Mustering courage he didn't know he had, projecting lazy assurance he most certainly didn't feel, Alfons strolled over to them, and came to a stop several meters away.

"I must ask you men to leave, we are conducting a scientific experiment, it is not safe here," he said nonchalantly. Or rather, shouted nonchalantly. Or at least tried to.

"What is this?" one of the men, a uniformed one, shouted back, quivering with tension.

They had guns, Alfons suddenly noticed, and tried to lower his hands to his own for assurance without making any overtly aggressive moves. Could he draw both of them easily even around the pack that still hung at his side? He tried to shift it surreptitiously, leaving both of his sides bare.

"It is science," he said.

Murmurs broke out among the men: "That ain't no science, I've ever seen!" "Some sort of witchcraft, is it?"

"You're coming with us, you hear?" the officer shouted back. "Now put down your guns-"

"I am afraid we can not stop the experiment now," Alfons told him, sweat trickling down the side of his face, and not just because of the heat of the array on the back of his neck. _Don't panic, need to buy time, give Edward time to_-

"Son, you need to get out, it's not safe here!" Englemann called, trying a different tack.

Alfons' eyes were darting back and forth across the group, trying to gauge what to say to keep them appeased. There were ten – eleven – far too many for him to deal with, they had guns – so did he, but they had _more._ He couldn't take them all. And with the ongoing drama behind him, they might be just nervous enough to attack.

_Come on, Edward!_

From the corner of his eye he could see Edward writhing inside the array, digging the heels of his hands into his eyes. His feet were nowhere near the floor. Was it time yet? How much longer?

"Drop your weapons!" someone shouted.

Alfons, distracted by the array, didn't move quickly enough, and the next thing he knew two men had lunged at him, grabbing his arms, trying to lock them behind his back. In a panicked reaction, Alfons fought back – twisting his wrists to break their hold, tripping one of them, smashing the back of his head into someone's face. He was no Edward, but somehow, miraculously, he managed to break free – _thank God for Edward and his sparring fetish – _took several running steps backwards and pulled out his guns.

"Get back!" he shouted, cocking them, aiming for – _who_? _Who would he shoot if he had to?_ keeping his elbows steady. Now cries of consternation broke out, and other guns were being drawn. He had the advantage – despite the crazy lighting, he could still see the dark shapes of the men, while they were forced to squint against the light of the array to see him.

"That's Elric in there!"

He didn't know who yelled, but he felt bad, because- what if Russell hadn't gone to the police, what if somebody had seen the shine of the array from outside and had just been _worried_ about them-

"If you don't put down your weapons, we're going to shoot!" one of the policemen called, and all Alfons could think was that at least nobody had decided to shoot yet.

"Don't come near me!" Sweat running down his forehead and into his eyes, the strap cutting sharply into his left shoulder, he hardly dared blink as he inched backwards across the floor, towards the array. Edward had better be ready to go, because he couldn't hold them off much longer. His lungs ached from panting, a headache pounded at the back of his eyes from the strain of staying focused. _Just a bit more... a bit more... their lab wasn't _that_ big he had to be almost there where was the array?!_

Suddenly a shot rang out, the bullet whizzing by somewhere near his feet, and Alfons' heart leapt into his throat. Before he knew what he was doing he had retaliated (_only eleven more bullets left, now)_, and heard a cry of pain when his shot hit home. He had aimed carefully – made somebody drop their gun, which hit the floor and went off.

He _had_ to be close to the array now; his hair was standing on end with static electricity, and bolts of lightning crackled in the air around him. Over the rushing in his ears he could no longer hear anything – not the shouts of the men, not the crackle-hum of the array, not the roar of the lightning that suddenly hit him, the shock running through his body, making him arch back in what should have been agony but somehow wasn't.

He didn't hear the whizz of bullets around him, but he felt the one that hit – a pain in his lungs so much sharper and more immediate than anything he had ever felt before, and then he was falling – or flying, nothing made sense anymore, until he crashed to the ground, the array a blazing sun in his vision.

Now, dimly, he heard shouting, but he no longer cared – all he could see, all he could think of was Edward, a silhouette floating in the center, reaching out his hands to him, helpless. Pain and dizziness breaking over him in waves, Alfons managed to crawl the last meter, though his body weighed so much (forget the pack, slowing him down – he _couldn't_ leave it behind), up the (endless, endless) stair, reached a hand up to the array. It was so exhausting, so far... he missed, his arm fell to the ground, but he tried again, straining, no longer feeling – or fearing – the heat on his skin. The heat of the array was nothing compared to the burning in his chest.

His fingers broke the surface of the array (it was soft, so thin, like the surface of a bubble), and then felt Edward's hands grasping him, drawing him inside.

Silence greeted him, so different from the raging, roaring, insanity outside that for a moment it felt like his mind had been switched off. Inside, the light was no longer overwhelming, but soft and golden. He was floating, and Edward's arms were pulling him closer, so gentle.... Somehow the weightlessness eased the pain, just a bit.

"Alfons, Alfons, please, no..."

Edward's voice came to him, muffled and faraway, and he didn't know whether it was because of the strange properties of this non-dimension they were in, or because focusing his thoughts was just so _hard_ when he couldn't think past the pain in his chest.

"Alfons, say something, anything, talk to me!" Edward gasped, pulling him closer. That bent Alfons' body in a way that it _really didn't want to be bent right now oh God it hurt_, but now he could see Edward's face, so horribly sad, and he didn't _want_ to see Edward looking like that. There were tears floating at the corners of Edward's eyes.... He had wondered, once, if Edward would ever cry over him the way he had cried over his little brother, but now all he wanted was for him to _stop. _His chest hurt enough already without his heart hurting, too.

"Edward," he managed, though it hurt to talk. He wanted to close his eyes, lose consciousness, make the pain go away.

Even more, though, he wished that this wasn't one of Edward's nightmares made flesh, that somehow he could make Edward wake up and discover that everything was okay, would be okay....

"H-hold on," Edward said, his hands tightening around Alfons' shoulders. "J-jus' stay with me, Alfons!"

His blood was floating, he noticed bemusedly, smiled at the sight. It was funny. He wished Edward would smile too... Edward was going _home_, he had to be _happy_, or what was the point...?

"No!" Edward's face twisted in agony, and he clung to Alfons, holding him to his chest.

The array activated fully.

Alfons just had time to see the world fracturing around them, overloading his senses beyond his brain's ability to cope, stealing the shreds of consciousness he had forced himself to grasp onto (_for Edward's sake!_) and scattering them to the winds. Horrible pressure against every inch of his body, agony in his chest, white light exploding behind his eyes....

And everything went black.

* * *

_Not Alfons, not Alfons, what happened to the bargain? _

_He_ was supposed to suffer the consequences, not Alfons, and what was the point of _any of this_ when all he would be taking back home was Alfons' body to bury?

Now, in the crucial moments of activating the last stage of the array, prying open the portal itself, he thought of a rebound. Thought of letting go, of the energy tearing into him, making sure that his soul would follow Alfons' beyond the Gate, beyond the dimensions, wherever it was souls went to rest. It would be fast, it would -

It would tear apart Alfons' body beyond recognition, and even with blood at the corner of his mouth and leaking out of his chest he was the most goddamn beautiful thing in the world. He couldn't do it.

He pulled Alfons's body closer, and when the moment came, he didn't hesitate. Didn't fight the energy pouring through his body, the alchemy burning him, sweeping him away, dragging his mind and his consciousness and his body – and _Alfons, don't drop Alfons – _he wasn't afraid, because the worst had already happened; had no will to resist the power of the array, because he _had_ no will left.

With a rush of energy, he was someplace which he knew dimly must be the fourth dimension. The still-rational part of his mind noted that it was nothing like the Gate _– _no endless white silence, but a world of color and light and movement, impossible shapes against his eyes and battering his body.

Edward knew he was screaming, felt the pressure against his vocal chords, though no sound reached his ears. He closed his eyes, but his mind was still cracking under the onslaught of stimulus, trying to perceive directions that simply _didn't exist_ but somehow _did_ and-

He should never have tried this, throwing them both into a place they were not built to survive, and Alfons, Alfons was....

An eternity passed by, and he knew he was trapped, knew there would be no escape, no way home – _where was home? _-

Identity was swept away from him, he no longer knew where he was or why, only that there was an all-important energy reaction inside his mind, reaching out for _something, _for _someone, _for the one still in his hands but no longer safe....

_Al_..._?_

And then he was falling through light, through madness, through sky and sunlight and stars. He fell through endless worlds, through people and places and pain and confusion. And then _something_ all-important was lost to him, taken away, though he knew that he had to protect it, and screamed and cried and tried to hold on, and had no idea what it was he was trying to keep.

Then there was nothing at all.


	31. The Great Work

_I'm so sorry for the super-late update. I had an insane university workload, and then we went to war, so for a while there writing was not exactly at the forefront of my thoughts...._

* * *

Research was tiring in a way that traveling wasn't. Wandering left his body exhausted, his muscles aching from chasing trains while dragging a suitcase that, despite his efforts at traveling light, persisted in becoming weighted down with notes and newspaper clippings.

Sitting in That Per- _Dante_'s house tired his mind, left him feeling wrung and weak, and he didn't know _why._ He wasn't engaged in any physical activity that should have him collapsing into bed every night practically incapable of keeping his eyes open, sleeping so heavily he could barely drag himself awake in mornings.

They had mentioned once how Ed had studied, spending entire days and nights in musty libraries, nose buried in a book. As far as Al was concerned, this was simply more proof of his brother's genius and impossible strength of will. At least Dante's library was cheerful and well-lit, furnished with comfortable couches; overall a much more comfortable study environment than the average library.

The only major advantage of other places was that they didn't have the unnerving stillness of death hanging over them.

Reading the books and journals, Al was beginning to get a concept of just who Dante had been – and was not liking what he saw. He couldn't _prove_ it, he couldn't _see_ it, but he felt it. There had been something _wrong _about Dante, something intrinsically skewed about her research.

He would never have believed it, but he found himself comforted by Wrath's abrasive presence. He might not _like_ the homunculus, might not be entirely sure of his motives, but having company was welcome.

Wrath had been one of the few people who hadn't covered up his story in lies, and for that, Al appreciated him. Wrath was also one of the few who truly believed him when he said that he _knew_ Ed was alive and trying to return. Even Mustang, though he hoped desperately, didn't quite recognize it as truth.

The only niggling worry at the back of his mind as he dug through the notes to begin the construction of the frightening array which was supposed to bring back his brother, was about the promise Wrath had extracted from him. Wrath was going to extract some unnamed price for this opportunity he had provided, and Al had promised it to him. He wondered sometimes, at night when he tried to fall asleep on the too-large bed in the room he had taken for himself, if he hadn't made a deal with the devil.

He hardly moved around anymore, quickly settling into a routine of research, only broken occasionally by the need to arrange food for himself. Being right on the edge of a forest on one side, with a whole grove of fruit trees on the other and supplemented by a vegetable garden, Al didn't have much difficulty in gathering fresh food. However, the house couldn't provide him with starches or cooked food, so about once a week found him making the descent into Dublith to buy staples. He made these trips as rarely and as short as he could because he couldn't stand to be in town any more than he had to. Every time he passed a butcher shop, he was reminded of Teacher, and of the home-away-from-home he – _they, don't forget Ed – _no longer had.

Sometimes he called Mustang, when he was feeling particularly lonely, often after a visit to Dublith. Most conversations cheered him up, though the last time they had talked, Mustang had been practically livid.

"_Haven't you listened to anything I've told you_?" he had said. "_The way you're acting is practically advertising to anybody following your movements that you're on to something. You can't change your normal patterns of behavior without creating immediate suspicion!_"

Al had made placating noises, but privately thought that Mustang was overreacting. In all his travels he had yet to encounter even a hint of anybody tailing him. And here, at Dante's house? The only person who had any concept of what was hidden in this treasure-trove of a library had been Teacher. She would have known he was up to something, would have been suspicious, would have possibly shown up to beat him black and blue for what he was attempting. But Teacher was gone, so there was nobody to stop him. Anyway, there was no chance that anybody would be able to sneak in without him – or, more importantly, Wrath – noticing. Neither he nor his research were in any danger.

Every day he woke up and went to the library, where he did research for as long as he was capable. When it got to be too much, he went outside to practice leaps and kicks, stretching out his muscles and trying not to remember a time when he had somebody to spar against, and somebody to attack the two of them.

He marked his days by advancing through the bookshelves and by the array components tentatively taking shape in his notes. Days bled into weeks and eventually into months. They grew shorter – but he only noticed because it meant that he had to study by lamplight more often than not. Temperatures dropped, but it only meant that when he went outside to practice he wore a light sweater, thankful that Dublith winters weren't nearly as bad as those in Central or Resembool.

Finally, though, he reached the point where he realized he could go no further. In order to activate an array to open the Gate, he needed a power source. A trade. Equivalent Exchange.

When Ed had tied his soul to the suit of armor, he must have sacrificed his arm and leg in order to power the transmutation, because Al couldn't conceive of anything else that would have gotten the job done.

He set aside the books and sat staring down at the array. It was only fair that in order to bring Ed back he would be called on to make a similar sacrifice. Ed wouldn't have hesitated, he thought, sweat breaking out on his skin. His brother wouldn't have allowed fear to turn him away.

How much would it take? He regulated his breathing, and thought for the first time about what it had been like for his brother to live with automail. From the information he had gathered, it seemed that Ed's automail had been quite useful to him, and possibly saved his life more than once. On the other hand Ed had always kept it hidden under layers of clothing, which hinted at shame.

While living at Winry's he had seen enough people undertaking the excruciating surgery and the painful rehabilitation that came after. He labored under no illusions that it was a remotely pleasant process.

Would he sacrifice an arm or a leg – or both – in order to bring his brother back? He might have to, he told himself. He might even lose something more, vision, hearing – or internal organs, he thought, feeling cold. How could he forget what had happened to Teacher, whose missing organs had led to her eventual --

What if the transmutation left him crippled for life in a way that no automail could repair?

What if it killed him?

With a sudden movement he pushed the chair away from the table and jumped up, wanting to get out of the room which suddenly seemed icy cold. Pulling his coat closer around him he hurried out and went down to the kitchen, one of the few rooms of the house which he kept warmed. The heat from the stove enveloped him, bringing with it momentary calm, and he just stood in the center of the room trying to catch his breath.

The Gate had 'taken' Ed, Wrath had said. Maybe he would simply have to trade with his brother, take Ed's place in that wan, bleak world in the background of his dreams. Slowly, he sat down at the kitchen table, clasping his hands in front of him.

He was a coward, he realized bitterly. Because he found himself wondering if maybe Ed wouldn't _want_ him to take such a risk. Ed had definitely been lost to the Gate as a result of bringing back Al's body. Wasn't that a loud and clear message that this was how it was supposed to end? Did it mean that, whatever fate Ed was suffering, he _preferred_ it to having Al risk himself?

Was he rationalizing away his obligation, or raising valid points? He no longer knew.

Sunlight from outside caught his eye, and he found his gaze drawn to the window, looking out at the wintering garden, and tried to empty his mind. Without a firm resolve he would be capable of achieving nothing. What did he truly feel?

He thought of his brother, imagined pictures running through his mind, based on stories he had heard, photographs in newspapers and files. Ed had achieved _so much_ in his years of being the People's Alchemist, had been a hero in the full meaning of the word.

And he? He had lived in his brother's shadow, kept Ed's legend alive for him. Oh, whenever he had encountered trouble he had done whatever he could for the people – it was his job as an alchemist, after all, but nothing he had done compared to his brother's achievements. For better or for worse, he wasn't a legend.

In the long run, might it not be better for everybody to have the Fullmetal Alchemist back? Ever since Parliament had first convened, the country seemed in a state of chaos. Both Drachma and Creta kept trying to take bites out of Amestrian territory, and with all the infighting between factions in the government and outside of it, there was no real way to oppose them successfully. No way to protect the villages to the north that got surreptitiously bombed, nobody to worry about the poor and homeless.

Ed was a hero, and Al had no doubt that if he were here, things would be different.

And... he blinked furiously and tried to banish the tears from his eyes, as Ed's remembered image rose before them. The Ed of his dreams was so _sad_, so lonely, and one thing Al was completely sure of – Ed wanted to come home.

He wouldn't be the obstacle, Al thought, and suddenly felt better. He was no coward. Whatever it took to make sure Ed was happy, he would pay that price. He would -

"Gotten lazy, huh?"

Al jumped as Wrath's voice cut through his thoughts. God, he _hated_ when Wrath did that – which was probably why the homunculus persisted.

"I was thinking about some stuff," Al said, and watched as Wrath practically flowed into the kitchen, to take a seat on the table.

"Having second thoughts?" Wrath's eyes glittered, and he grinned nastily. As if he expected Al to balk at this point.

"No," Al said quietly. He didn't wonder how – or if – Wrath even knew what stage his research was at. The homunculus was oddly canny. "I don't want to die, but I'm willing to take a risk if it means bringing him back." He took a deep breath. Vocalizing the thought had made it suddenly more real.

"Stupid!" Wrath suddenly shouted, jumping off the table and stomping on the floor angrily. "That's not what you're supposed to do!"

"Huh?"

Pacing nervously, Wrath had clenched his fists tightly, the automail squeaking in protest. "If you do that, then the Gate will win _again_! Stupid, humans are so stupid...."

Annoyance shot through Al. "Well, what am I supposed to trade, then? I'm not going to pretend there won't be a price."

"There _will_ be a price," Wrath said, suddenly pausing, shooting Al a grin. "But you pay it to me, not the Gate. I'm the one who's going through."

"W-what?" Al stared, to appalled to say anything more coherent. Trade _Wrath_? "Why?"

Wrath looked crafty. "You promised you'd trade me whatever I wanted in exchange for information, didn't you?"

"But," Al stammered, his stomach twisting, "but I didn't know it was going to be _this_..." Sacrificing himself was one thing, but putting somebody else at risk was just too much.

"I want this," Wrath said clearly, catching Al's eyes with his eerie purple ones. "You did make a promise, Alphonse. Aren't you Elrics supposed to be good at keeping them?"

It was true, he had promised, Al thought. He hadn't expected Wrath's request to be anything like _this_, but....

Could he?

To sacrifice Wrath meant to neatly bypass any problems that could arise with activating such a powerful array. Surely if this was something Wrath _wanted_ it was okay.... At practically no risk to himself he would be able to retrieve Ed – well, not just less risk to himself, this meant that there was greater probability that nothing would happen to his brother on the way through.

It was too good to be true. Suddenly suspicious, Al looked back at the homunculus. "Why?" he asked, again. Maybe Wrath had some sort of damaging ulterior motive. Though nobody had really told him Wrath's story, he gathered that there had been some less than amicable relations in the past. He couldn't trust Wrath absolutely.

"You're human," Wrath said, annoyance in his tone. "You wouldn't understand."

Al didn't answer, just waited. He had learned by now that Wrath wasn't patient, and was probably itching to tell him, anyway.

Wrath paced a circle in front of the stove, then stopped in front of Al. "I don't belong here," he finally said. "I can't be like humans, I'm not wired like that. This world," he waved his arms expansively, "is suited to humans." He lowered his hands, the automail making a forlorn clink. "Lust could've fit," he said, that familiar edge of strange anger in his voice, "she was always too human. But I can't." He suddenly caught himself, and his mouth twisted in a wry, sharp grin. "Good enough for you?"

Al hesitated only a moment. He knew what it was like, feeling like you didn't belong. "Yes," he said. If that was what would make Wrath happy, he would use him to power the array.

"And after that?" Wrath asked urgently, intensity in his gaze. "Will you lie awake nights and torment yourself over what you did to me?"

"Um... no," Al said, slightly taken aback. "Why would I? This is what you want."

Wrath didn't move, an unsettling smile twitching the corners of his mouth upwards.

"What?" Al practically snapped, growing annoyed.

"You're less like your brother than you like people to think."

Al felt his stomach roll over inside him, and couldn't find anything to say. Wrath turned around smartly, flicking his long, dark hair behind him, and wandered out of the room, not looking back.

Knees weak, Al sank down on a chair slowly. He _knew_ he was nothing like Ed – hearing tales about his brother for so long, he could hardly miss that. But Wrath's words jarred him, and he found himself wondering, suddenly doubting. Until now he hadn't considered that Ed might not approve of what he was doing – after all, they were supposed to do _anything_ to be together in the end, right? Ed had broken the rules loads of times! For goodness' sake, Ed was – was – he even cheated at _cards_. He had counterfeited gold and extorted food out of people and lied and –

Al thought back on the past four years frantically. Surely he hadn't ever done anything _worse_ than what his brother had done. He might have bucked authority, occasionally engaged in less-than-legal activities... there was that trainload of Drachman goods he had stolen, but those had gone to the poor people of Millvale, that was okay... and maybe he lied to Mustang rather a lot, but Ed had lied to Mustang all the time also....

Maybe... maybe he wouldn't tell Ed about Wrath, he suddenly thought. Ed _always_ found ways to blame himself, he would probably feel guilty about it for some silly reason. Yes, that was the best plan. As far as Ed was concerned, all he would ever know was that Al had found a way for him to return. And the sad truth was that nobody would really miss Wrath anyway, because the homunculus tended to disappear at the drop of a hat.

* * *

Wrath's words continued to bother him over the next week, as the array developed from day to day. He had always looked forward to discussing his travels with Ed, sharing particularly juicy bits of information, but now he sometimes wondered if he shouldn't... edit his stories, just a bit.

Ed would _never_ have cause to disapprove of him, he promised himself. Not that Ed ever _would_, of course, but... still.

As if in confirmation of his conviction, he dreamed of Ed that night, the dream vivid and clear. In it, he entered a room – living room – lit by warm lamplight, and on the sofa was Ed, his hair down, dressed in a soft flannel shirt and too-large pants, books and notes strewn around him.

_Edward_, he said reproachfully, and went to sit down next to him. He knew, inexplicably, that Ed needed to sleep, he was working too hard.

_Mmm_, said Ed, still reading. Al reached out and waved a hand in front of his face until Ed swatted at it irritably and looked up.

_The array is almost finished,_ he said, _and it's definitely going to be completed one way or another. Exhausting yourself isn't necessary._

_But-_

_Come to bed_,_ it's past midnight_! He reached out a hand to tug gently on Ed's wrist, until his brother stood up reluctantly to follow him.

_You shouldn't be up either_, Ed said grumpily.

Al smiled. _The room was cold. _He looked back, and his smile grew wider. _You could do something about that_.

Then Ed jumped at him, and Al found himself jerking awake in the large, now-familiar bed he had claimed in Dante's mansion.

Ed looked better, he thought to himself, though the person in his dream had been right – Ed needed to sleep more, he had dark circles under his eyes. Not for the first time, he wondered whose eyes he was seeing out of, when he dreamed. Sometimes the dreams seemed lacking a specific perspective – then again, sometimes the dreams were terribly vague, unlike this one. In that strange place beyond the Gate, it appeared that Ed had a companion, and Al found himself thankful for that. At least _somebody_ was around to tell Ed to get some sleep when he so obviously needed it.

Al sat up in bed, strangely awake, but immediately lay back down under the blankets. Even with the gas furnace, it was _cold_.

Array. They had said something about an array, and it being almost finished.

Maybe this wasn't a real dream, he thought in disappointment, but just a projection of his own worries about the array he was building. One thing he had managed to gather from the infrequent dreams was the fact that wherever Ed was, he couldn't do alchemy there. What would be the point of building an array?

His brow furrowed as he stared up into the darkness of the ceiling. He wished, suddenly, that there was someone to talk to, who could help him figure out what he was supposed to do, but the only option was Wrath and asking _him_ would be totally useless.

Ed _had_ to come back, he thought, a sudden lump in his throat. Ed would have known what to do. His brother was so good at figuring out messy situations and ending up a hero. If Ed had been around, things would be so different, he probably wouldn't have nearly gotten arrested that one time he broke into the archive in Fairview, and gotten yelled at by Mustang.

Whether or not the dream was real, he decided, the meaning was the same. He couldn't afford to procrastinate. Every day wasted was another day Ed was stuck in that strange, dim, dream-world, was one day too many Ed was gone. Also, the longer he spent holed up here, the higher the chances were that he'd get noticed. Even if Mustang's paranoia wasn't justified, there was still no reason to tempt fate.

He would work harder.

* * *

Winter descended in earnest. Had he not been an alchemist or had Dante's stores not been at his disposal, he might have found himself in trouble. Thankfully, he didn't need to devote much time to arranging things like heat or food – fuel was easily transmuted, and food was fairly readily accessible. He spent the days holed up in his bedroom, surrounded by books, and watched the array reach its final stages.

He tried not to think about how frightening it was. The array was more complicated than any other he had ever worked with, barring the transmutations he did on his soul. But the soul-alchemy came to him naturally; he hardly had to think about it, whereas this array was like any other, regimented, organized.

Would it be controllable? He couldn't know until he tried, and that in itself was enough to worry him. From Ed's encoded journals he knew that his brother was capable of working with higher than tenth-level arrays: the most complicated documented was sixteenth-level, though he had no record of it ever being used. This array was twelfth-level, and single-process. Activating a twelfth-level multiple-process array would probably have been beyond his capabilities (Ed was a genius. In his notes Al had found a seven-process array, and had just stared. He hadn't ever heard of anybody activating an array of more than three or four processes. Anything more complicated was usually split up into separate arrays, or activated by several people working together).

He wanted to see Ed using alchemy like that, he thought. He imagined researching with his brother, poring over books together, calling each other's attention to important details and making light of others, and felt his stomach turn over. It wouldn't be long, now, and that dream would come true.

-

And then, quite suddenly, he looked down at his papers one day and realized that the array was complete. He could hardly believe it, and spent another two hours reviewing the whole thing, rechecking his calculations, but came to the same results. If there was something wrong with the array, it was beyond his ability to repair.

Leaning back in his chair, he stretched and took a good look around the room that had been his home for the past few months. He snorted to himself. Probably half the books from the library were strewn around on the shelves.

Until Wrath returned there wasn't really much for him to do, so he set about cleaning up the mess he had left, stacking the spare papers neatly and carrying the books back to the library. He found himself wondering idly who would live in this house next. It would be a shame to waste all these wonderfully rare books of alchemy, though some of them could be quite dangerous in the wrong hands.

Al stood beneath the tall bookshelves and wondered. Maybe he should tell Mustang about this, let the State take care of the – no, there were still plenty of twisted alchemists around. Briefly, he contemplated destroying them, but didn't have the heart to. In the end, he decided to simply hide them. This house had sat undisturbed for years already; hopefully it would continue that way. When Ed was back, Al would bring him here, and together they would decide what to do with the books. A quick transmutation, and the library was gone. He trailed his fingers along the smooth wall where the entrance had once been, then turned his back on it, thoughts occupied by the array up in his room.

He went back upstairs, hurrying through the cold corridors. Where was Wrath? The array was finished, it was time to get going. He paced across the room nervously, sat down for a moment only to jump up immediately. It was probably silly to suddenly feel such great urgency, when he had felt nothing remotely similar this very morning, but... he didn't want to wait any longer.

There were now no more obstacles standing between him and Ed. The array just had to be activated.

Where _was_ Wrath? What if he had changed his mind? What if all this was some sort of twisted plan to- to- well, Al wasn't quite sure what Wrath could achieve by this, but he was certainly starting to feel uneasy. If the homunculus vanished, it would be a massive setback, he would have to completely reconfigure the power source – either to use himself as a sacrifice, or try and find an alternative -

"Well?" Wrath said.

Any annoyance Al might have felt was wiped away by relief. "It's done," he said. "We should get going."

"Going?" Wrath asked, and Al heard the confusion in his voice. It gave him confidence.

"I wouldn't want to bring Ed back _here_," Al said. That this house should be the first thing Ed saw when he returned? Ridiculous. There was only one place Al would do it: in the hills around Resembool. Ed was coming _home_.

"Huh," Wrath said, discomfited. Al knew he wouldn't ask, but if Al didn't explain, Wrath might get pissed off. He didn't want to antagonize the homunculus, especially not now.

"Resembool," he said, and saw understanding on Wrath's face.

"Let's go, then." With those words, Wrath turned his back and left the room, having nothing to take but himself, and paying no mind to the cold.

Al packed up his few belongings, his all-important notes, and felt no regret at leaving the place.

Outside, he realized that the day had already waned, and considered for a moment taking the train tomorrow, when there was light – but no, there was no reason to put it off. Taking a train overnight meant that by tomorrow he would be in Resembool already.

He advanced through the dusting of snow, Wrath a silent presence beside him.

"You should put on a coat," Al finally said.

"I'm not cold," Wrath answered unconcernedly.

"It doesn't matter. People are staring."

Wrath said nothing, and Al felt himself getting annoyed. Pausing in the middle of the street, he pulled his other coat out of the suitcase, but then hesitated. This was Ed's coat, the worn, frayed red one that Ed had left behind when he set out to face his last challenge. Right now Al wasn't wearing it because it wasn't quite warm enough, and because he didn't want to attract unwanted attention. But to give it to Wrath....

Standing beside him, Wrath suddenly let out a dark chuckle of laughter, and that decided Al. Quickly, he thrust the red coat at the homunculus.

"Here," he said, before he could think of all the reasons not to.

Now silent, Wrath took the coat from him, and slipped it over his shoulders. For one moment Al couldn't _breathe _for seeing the familiar fabric being worn again, the flamel stitched on the back standing out darkly. It fit Wrath well – possibly better than it fit Al himself, who was starting to grow just a little too big for it.

Deliberately, Al looked away to snap his suitcase closed again. He stood up, hefted it, and cleared his throat.

"Let's go," he said. Soon enough this coat would be nothing special, because Ed would be back and have lots of clothes, newer and better ones. And whenever he wanted to feel close to his brother he would be able to just go and talk to him, and not sit with the dulled red fabric in his arms, contemplate the patches, and try in vain to hear Ed's voice speaking from memory.

The train station was mostly empty this time of night, but for a few lonely travelers inside the waiting room, huddled around the stove in their coats, waiting for the next northbound train which was due to arrive in an hour and a half.

He turned to Wrath. "Will you stay here with the suitcase?" he asked.

"What for?"

Al tried to figure out what Wrath might be thinking from his tone, but failed. "I need to make a phone call," he finally said. Wrath nodded once, quickly, and sat down on a bench, the suitcase by his feet, the red coat wrapped around his body.

Al went back outside into the cold, and tried not to think about the fact that he was taking Wrath to his death.

He asked the operator to patch him through to Central, and found himself thankful for his gloves, thin though they might be, which gave him some protection from the cold.

"Hello?" Mustang's voice came onto the line, just a little bit tired and exasperated.

"Hello," Al answered quietly, feeling his heart suddenly speed up. It was real. It was really going to happen.

"Oh, Alphonse, how are you?" Mustang made an obvious effort to sound jovial.

"I'm going home for a vacation," Al said. The lie stuck in his throat. He wanted to crow his imminent success, wanted to gloat over the beautiful array he had constructed.

Mustang was quiet for a moment. "You didn't go home for Midwinter," he observed. "You don't find your desire to return only now just a bit strange?"

"I thought I was onto something," Al said, defensive, but at the same time confused. Didn't Mustang always tell him not to talk about his advances on the phone?

"And now?" Mustang asked, a strange edge to his voice. "One might think that you-"

"It didn't pan out," Al cut him off, annoyed. What was wrong with him? "Nothing happened, and now I'm going home to see if Winry will have me back, is that what you wanted to hear?" he snapped. He no longer felt the cold, and gripped the phone so hard his hand hurt. He _couldn't_ have gone home for Midwinter, he had been in the middle of one of the most important breakthroughs-!

"Yes," Mustang said, sounding pleased. For a moment Al thought he would understand what the heck was going on, and then Mustang continued-

"It's high time you reconciled with the Rockbells," and at that point Al had no idea whose side the colonel was on, anyway.

"Yes, well, I have to go, the train should be coming any time now," Al lied stiffly, and only after the words had left his mouth he thought how silly a lie it was. Mustang would definitely know the trains' schedules.

Mustang sighed, and Al felt like he was missing something very important. But all Mustang said was, "Very well, then. Have a nice holiday, Alphonse. Thank you for calling."

Al hung up, and wondered if there had been a slight emphasis on _holiday_, or if he was just imagining it.

Whatever. He tugged his coat tighter around his body, watching the air puff from his mouth in a white cloud. He was beginning to have an inkling why his brother had apparently detested the Colonel.

He also suddenly realized that his chances of seeing Winry at this time of year were not great. She would probably be in Rush Valley, and Rose would be at the Rockbells with Granny. Al felt a moment of regret over that – Ed would probably be disappointed not to see Winry immediately, but he would hardly put off the transmutation just for that reason.

He stepped back into the warmth of the depot, and for one moment he saw double: the slight figure with the tattered brown suitcase, wearing the red coat, _was_ his brother – but no, it was just Wrath, and he decided that maybe it was strangely fitting that Wrath should get to wear Ed's coat, since, in effect, Wrath was the one enabling him to return safely.

He wanted to say something to the homunculus, but couldn't think of anything, and so they waited in silence until the train came.

The trip itself was uneventful. Al had grown used to traveling by train and often slept, but now found his thoughts plagued by Ed and by all the ways in which things could go wrong at the last minute. He had to trust they wouldn't, but all the same... He remembered how four years ago (to him) he and Ed had been completely sure nothing could go wrong with transmuting their mother, and that hadn't ended well.

But this time Wrath was paying the price, he thought and was comforted, even though he felt slightly ill at the same time.

At some point the endless clattering of the wheels on the tracks lulled him, and he dozed for what felt like moments but must have been a few hours. When he opened his eyes the sky had a black, pre-dawn cast to it, and Al heard the announcement of the stops near where he had to get off to switch trains for the Resembool line.

And then – he was at the too-familiar Resembool train station, exchanging nods and smiles with the few familiar faces awake at this hour, and noting the new ones. Curious looks followed him, undoubtedly wondering what he was doing about at this hour, and with such a strange companion. Wrath might be often seen at the Rockbell's automail clinic, but he usually kept himself scarce otherwise.

Then they were out of town, which took longer to do than last time – Resembool was definitely growing, and walking along the dirt roads through the fields leading to their land. The sky lightened with every step they took, though it would only be another hour until the sun actually rose.

Al shivered, thankful that the roads had been plowed. Slogging through the knee-deep snow for two kilometers wouldn't have been fun. On a hill up ahead the black silhouette of a familiar house came into view, and as always, Al had to stop himself from instinctively looking towards where his own house should be. Maybe they would rebuild, when Ed returned.

He turned off the road and up the path, and only halfway to the house did he realize that the second set of footsteps that had followed in his wake was no longer there. Whirling around, he saw only an empty landscape – Wrath was nowhere in sight. Almost frantic, Al scanned his surroundings, trying in vain to catch a glimpse of the red coat – it should be visible even in this light – but to no avail.

Wrath wouldn't have vanished, he told himself, trying to stay calm. He probably just didn't want to see anybody else. Later today, after he had gotten some sleep, he would go out and look for the homunculus.

Turning back to the house, he hefted the suitcase, ignoring the awful cold in his fingers, and continued. Up the stairs, careful not to slip on their thin film of ice, and then he paused.

He would prefer to announce his arrival, but he didn't want to wake up anybody. He set the suitcase down, opened it up, and rummaged around until he found his keys. He nearly fumbled them with his freezing fingers, but finally managed to slip it in and turn it. Silently he stepped into the house, careful not to let the screen door slam behind him.

The warmth inside was welcome, and he sighed in pleasure. With the warmth came a sudden lethargy, almost too great to bear, and Al thought of how many hours it had been since he last slept. His eyes fell on the familiar white sofa in the living room, and before he knew it, he was stumbling towards it almost-blindly. He barely had the presence of mind to kick off his shoes and cover himself with his coat before he was fast asleep.

* * *

Voices trickled through his dreams, more and more insistently, until he found himself abruptly drawn back to consciousness. Even half-awake, he still didn't move; he was warm and oh-so-comfortable. It took him some time to realize that a thick quilt covered him, and he could see sunlight from high in the sky when he turned his head towards the window.

The voices were very familiar, he thought. One belonged to a young boy – probably Cain, and that was Rose, and Winry –

Winry?

Al sat up in surprise, his movement catching the attention of the two women in the room.

"Well," Winry said, her voice carefully neutral, "look who's awake."

"Al!" Rose said, looking genuinely pleased.

"I didn't want to wake you guys up when I came in," Al said, his mind still a bit sluggish. "Winry, shouldn't you be in Rush Valley?"

The smile abruptly fell off Rose's face, and Al was horrified to see Winry's eyes fill with tears.

"You shouldn't have to ask," Winry snapped, taking a step towards him. "If you had come home for Midwinter you would have _known_ – Granny is –"

Before he knew what he was doing Al found himself on his feet, his heart thudding painfully in his ears. Granny couldn't have – surely Mustang would have told him if –

"She's not doing well," Rose said. "This winter is very hard on her."

"You should have been here," Winry said, barely-controlled emotion in her voice. "Ed's gone, but at least you-"

"Sorry," Al blurted, moving towards her. "I'm sorry Winry, I-" he didn't even know what he was going to say until he said it –"I did miss you."

And it was true, he had missed so much. Coming home for good might be more difficult than he thought, Winry was so angry – but no, she would understand once Ed was back.

Now Winry was silent, not sure how to take his announcement, which wasn't quite the reaction Al had been hoping for. Then Winry's eyes softened, and she brushed away her tears with a sharp movement.

"She's in her room," she said.

Al almost didn't wait for her to finish, he was already heading up the stairs, pausing just long enough to call back his thanks when Rose said she'd fix him something for breakfast.

"Lunch," Winry muttered under her breath.

Al nearly barged right into Granny's room, but made himself pause before. He didn't want to alarm her. When he felt that he could control himself, Al reached over and turned the knob, pushing the door open gently.

"Granny?" he called. "It's me, Al."

"Come in, come in," Granny's voice sounded almost as strong as he remembered. But when he stepped in, he realized how different she looked. Granny had always been small, but now she looked frail. Al walked towards the bed, resisting the urge to tiptoe, and realized that he was terrified.

Granny shouldn't be lying down, trapped in bed as if she were-

"Don't look at me like that," she groused. "The cold does my bones no good, that's all."

Wordless, Al sank down to the bed beside her and took her hand. It felt fragile, the skin thin and papery.

No alchemy would ever fix this.

"Younglings," Granny snorted. "Get that doe-eyed look off your face, and while you're at it, tell Winry to stop acting like a mother hen. When this cold spell is past, I'll be right as rain. How have you been?"

Startled by the change in subject, Al nearly told the truth, but managed to stop himself at the last minute. Instead, he told of a library in Charing, and claimed to have spent the last few months there, researching.

Granny said nothing, though Al could see the sadness on her face. He waited for her to say something about Midwinter, but she didn't.

"I'm glad you came," she said instead, and terror pulsed through Al again.

He swallowed. "Rose said she was making me something to eat," he excused himself, standing up.

"Run along, then."

Al hesitated, not quite wanting to leave, then turned away. Walking numbly down the hallway, stomping his way down the stairs, he knew exactly what he had to do.

"I warmed up the porridge from this morning for you," Rose greeted him, setting down a bowl. Cain was still nowhere in sight. At the kitchen table Winry sat doing something with bits of wire, springs, and small pliers. Al sat down across from her and pulled the bowl to him.

The first bite made him realize how hungry he was, and he shoveled the porridge into his mouth hungrily.

"So where were you?" Rose asked. "Did you learn anything interesting?"

Winry didn't look up, but her hands abruptly stilled.

Al hesitated. "I don't know," he finally said, and then realized that it was a miscalculation. Both women looked at him, one hopefully, the other sharply. Until now Al had always denied things unilaterally. "I mean-"

"How about," Winry cut him off, "if we just enjoy the fact that we're all here together? Just this once?"

"Winry," Rose said softly.

"Just this once," Winry's hand clenched around the pliers, "can we _not_ think about everybody who's not here?"

Normally, Al would have fought her. Any other time, he would have demanded hotly why she wanted to forget his brother, reminded her that Ed was coming _back._ But today he didn't.

"Okay," he said.

Shocked silence greeted his words. Winry had been expecting a fight.

Today was different. Because Al knew that he could wait no longer; Ed had to return as soon as possible.

Today was the day. And Al realized that he was terrified.

-

After he had eaten, when Al had surreptitiously extracted his notes from the suitcase and was preparing to go outside and seek Wrath out, he wondered what excuse he could give, then saw that he needed none.

That sort of behavior – in the house one moment, vanishing the next – was expected of him. For the first time Al realized that it bothered him, exiting the house with nobody calling after him to ask when he would return.

He paused outside the door, looking back. Should he give them a hint? What if something went wrong? How would the know where to look for him?

No. Steeling himself, he turned away. There was no need to warn anybody, because nothing would go wrong this time. He would go out, and return with a wonderful surprise.

And then everything would be okay.

Turning his back resolutely on the house, Al descended the stairs and set off – not down the path this time, but slogging through the deep snow, in the direction of the wood. It wouldn't do to be too near town when he did the transmutation.

Among the very first trees stood Wrath, waiting for him, still wrapped in Ed's coat.

"You're quicker than I thought," the homunculus said.

"There's no time to waste," Al answered, then hesitated. "Unless you want to-"

"No!" Wrath said. "Let's get this over with."

Al didn't argue, and led the way into the wood. The snow here was less deep, having been kept off the ground by the evergreens, but there was still enough to stick to his boots and the cuffs of his pants. Al tried to think of something to say, because in all probability, today was the last day he would be seeing Wrath. But all he could think of was "_give me back my brother's coat_", and that would just be crass. If Wrath truly wanted to take the coat with him when he – when he _died_, Al forced himself to face the facts – then who was Al to deny him?

Finally they reached a clearing among the trees that Al deemed sufficiently far from civilization. Pressing his gloved hands to the ground, he activated a quick transmutation to clear it of snow, and then almost as an afterthought, dried his own clothes. He offered to do the same for Wrath, but the homunculus shook his head and looked bored.

Shrugging, Al went to press his hands to the ground again. Alchemy rippled across it in a crackling blue wave which left the ground smooth but for the dark lines of an array burned into it. Comparing it with his notes, Al could find no discrepancies, and concluded that it was perfect. He looked at Wrath.

"Ready?"

Wordlessly, Wrath stepped into the array. _The coat, give me back the coat!_ Al thought. He only hesitated a moment, though, and then crouched, reaching out with his fingers. A sudden movement from Wrath made him pause.

Sporting a strange grin, Wrath pulled the coat off and carelessly tossed it to the side, out of the array. "I told you I don't feel the cold," he said.

Al's eyes lingered on the discarded coat, a patch of red against the white. Finally he managed to tear them away and look back at Wrath, standing confidently in the array. Their eyes locked for a moment, gray on inhuman purple, as Al's fingers moved slowly towards the dark symbols on the ground.

When he touched the array, he forgot Wrath, forgot the cold, and found his entire consciousness drawn into it. This array was like nothing he had ever encountered before, even more frightening in its own way than the array Al used to bind his soul to objects.

It was like a sinkhole of energy, sucking everything greedily into itself, and Al _felt_ how Wrath disintegrated, became a million – billion – energy connections, more powerful than he could have ever imagined.

Al saw nothing, only the power lashing around him, and _something_ was happening. Deep inside his mind he felt _it_ opening. Reality receded, replaced by endless white, and there – the massive form of a gate, called to the energy he was expending. Al reached for it instinctively, at the same time holding back as much energy as he could, to keep the array balanced.

It was close, huge and terrifying, a yawning maw that -

- was wrenched suddenly out of his grasp. Far away, Al felt his breath catch, as a sudden wash of impossible energy swamped his mind. For an instant Al panicked, his heart beat erratically, and he knew himself helpless in the grasp of the alchemy.

_Rebound!_ he thought, with the part of his mind that was still functioning. He struggled against the foreign influence, trying to somehow bend the energy to his will. The array could still be salvaged, if he could just... control...

The array turned _elsewhere_, ignoring his efforts, and Al heard himself crying out in pain as the energy burned through him, rushing through his body and tearing at his mind. This was no longer the array he had created; it was something wild and different, digging a _hole_ in his mind and simultaneously stretching it in ways he had never before experienced.

Full-blown panic overcame him, and at that moment Al knew he was irrevocably lost, battered by the energy vortex beyond his ability to control or resist. He was going to die, he knew, and hoped it wouldn't hurt too badly, though how it could hurt any more than what he was already feeling was beyond him.

The array reached its climax, and there, in the eye of the storm, Al suddenly felt something strange. An alchemy signature, warm, comforting, and so familiar... he had worked with the owner of this alchemy in the past, he _knew_ him, he would know that skill anywhere, even now, distorted as it was by the vast sea of raging energy.

It calmed him, grounded him, and he trusted it, enough to let his control go willingly, allow that alchemy to channel through him (a momentary discrepancy, his body screaming in pain, his mind swamped by the utter _joy_ of knowing such alchemy), and the control was eased back into him – until he held it all, focused through his mind and at the same time overriding everything he had ever known about alchemy. Space contracted around him, dragging his mind down to a pinpoint, then expanding it until he felt _himself_ tearing at the seams. Just when he thought he couldn't possibly take it any longer, _something_ was spit out of the vortex, and the energy cut off with an abruptness that left Al's head spinning. The _hole _shrank back to nothing, leaving Al gasping on the ground.

He didn't know how long he lay there, just on the verge of blacking out but still somehow conscious. His entire body ached to the point where the very thought of moving seemed out of the question.

Yet niggling at the back of his mind was the knowledge that something had happened – Wrath was gone, and he was still alive, and the array had worked, in a way. _What_ way remained to be seen.

With that thought, the need to discover what – if anything – had happened suddenly became all-consuming. Rolling over took a tremendous effort which left him nearly groaning with pain, but slightly more aware. Now he could feel the unpleasant damp chill of the ground beneath him, and the frigidity of the air, freezing his lungs. He rested a moment, then pushed up with his hands, raising his head instinctively to see the center of the array.

What he saw made him forget his pain and exhaustion and try to scramble to his feet, half-crawling half-running the few meters separating them.

In the center of the array was an unmistakably human-shaped heap. Raw hope pulsed along Al's nerves, as he reached out to the slumped-over body, rolling him over (it was definitely male!), the long blond hair was tied in a ponytail, he was wearing a too-flimsy gray flannel shirt and -

Al's heart sang, a sob caught in his throat, because _it was Ed_. This was the Ed of his dreams, unmistakably his brother, even if the clothes were-

-_bloodstained-_

Heart freezing again, Al searched for a wound, the source of the dark red stain across his brother's chest, and finally looked sideways-

And then he saw the other one.

The shock went straight to his stomach, making him feel ill. On the ground, breathing shallowly, was a perfect mirror-image of _himself_, only washed out, whiter – his skin pale, his hair light.

What did it mean? he wondered dizzily. If _he_ was Alphonse Elric, then who was this person, this lookalike that Ed had been clinging to?

What if he had been wrong all along? Al thought in terror. What if the reason his body was imperfect, his memories lacking, was because he _wasn't_ the real Al? The other Al even looked to be the proper age, and – Al reached over, carefully touched his palm – even had _fingerprints_.

He stared at the man, at the bleeding hole in his chest, and for a wild moment considered just letting him die, then _he_ would be the only Al, the real Al –!

"Brother?" Al turned to his comatose brother, shaking him slightly. Why wasn't Ed waking up? "Brother, wake up. What's wrong? Who is he?"

Ed stiffened, and for a moment Al thought he was waking up – but then he stiffened some more, his entire body jerking with the spasm.

"Brother!" Al nearly screamed, two instincts warring – to flee, to throw himself bodily on his brother and try and _make_ him relax.

Ed jerked in another convulsion. _Seizures!_ Al thought in panic. He had seen seizures before, and he knew that he needed to get help, because if they didn't stop... what were you supposed to do for somebody who was seizing? Al dimly remembered something about the tongue, but sticking his hand in Ed's mouth to keep him from biting his tongue might just get his fingers bitten off.

"Brother," he nearly sobbed, trying to hold Ed down – thought of something Winry had once said, and tilted Ed's head back, to keep him from suffocating.

He needed help. Far off, he thought he could hear voices, but they were too far and what was the drug for seizures again?

In a sudden burst of panicked courage, he attempted something he had never done – tossed a part of his soul to the winds, and suddenly he was flying, faster than he could think, towards the house on the hill.

Inside – his soul bumping against the glass frantically until he found the cracks (the size of chasms) between the glass and the window frame, then he was trying to keep himself from scattering, mixing with everything else in the air.

"_Winry!_" he shrieked, not knowing where his voice was coming from, if she could even hear him. "He's seizing, help me! Hurry!"

"Al?" Winry's head jerked up, looking around in confusion. "What the-"

There was pounding on the door, and it was so difficult to keep himself together, he was losing hold...

Somebody was talking to Winry, and Al heard the word _alchemy_, and then Winry was moving quickly, ready to leave the house.

"Seizures..." Al managed one last time, before the vision faded, and he was back in his own body, weak and dizzy. Too much alchemy, too close together. He needed to rest.

Ed was still stiff, and now Al saw that his double was taut and shaking as well. Where was Winry? Voices were coming closer, and when Al looked up he realized that it would be extraordinarily simple to find them. The alchemy had pulverized the trees around him, blown the snow away, and torn the leaves and branches off the trees still standing, for a radius of several meters.

People were arriving, shoving aside fallen branches to reach him, but invariably stopping at the edge of the slight crater he was sitting in.

"Where's Winry?" Al shouted, his eyes roving among the people which he knew should be familiar, but couldn't recognize at the moment – and then he saw her, a coat thrown hurriedly over her work clothes, and – thank god – a syringe in her palm.

Why was she just standing there? Didn't she _see_ Ed needed help?

"Winry!"

His voice must have snapped her out of whatever trance she was held in, because now she was running towards him. Al sagged in relief, all his aches and pains coming back to him as he saw Ed, then the lookalike, get their injections, and Ed relaxed into simple unconsciousness.

"He's been shot," Winry was saying, inspecting the wound on the lookalike. "We need to get him to-"

But Al didn't hear where they needed to get him, because the exhaustion finally caught up with him, and he fell into blissful darkness.

* * *

Al woke up (a feeling of deja vu, there. He had woken up not too long ago), and he didn't know why he felt so... peaceful. Happy. Something _good_ had happened.

He drifted for a while, until he realized _why_ everything was alright.

Ed had returned.

The lethargy fled from his mind and body immediately, and Al practically leaped out of bed. A quick look around revealed that he was in his room in the Rockbell house. He had been stripped of his wet clothes and shoes, and the small delay now to find clean ones to put on chafed at him.

Ignoring socks, he tore out of the room, hesitating at the top of the stairs. Where would Ed be? He wasn't in their room...

Al was already running down the stairs, to find Rose at the kitchen table. Uncharacteristically, she was unoccupied, her hands clasped before her, and contemplating a mostly-full teacup.

When she looked up at Al, he could see traces of tears on her face, and a joyful smile.

Rose was happy, that meant Ed had to be okay. Seizing as a result of alchemy couldn't be good, but if there had been something wrong, Rose would have been worried.

"They're in the clinic," Rose said, as if she could read his mind. "Winry and Granny are doing surgery."

For a moment Al's heart stopped, but then he realized she must be talking about his double. Ed didn't need surgery, after all.

He took a few steps forward, but Rose continued, "You need to wait until they're done before you can go in."

Al made a sound of frustration. Couldn't they have kept Ed out here, where he could watch over him?

"Come, drink some tea," Rose said gently. "There's nothing we can do for now."

Al didn't want to, but pacing would hardly make him less nervous. The tea Rose set before him suddenly seemed amazingly appetizing, and he realized how dry his lips felt, and how bad his headache was. He had really over-strained himself.

Minutes ticked by. Sometimes it seemed like Rose would speak, and Al knew exactly what she wanted to ask.

How he had done it. How he had known, how he had believed, how he hadn't given up. A smile spread on his face as he realized that he had been proven _right_. Ed was alive, returned home after a long exile, and he had been the one to achieve that. He would relish being able to say _I told you so_.

What did the lookalike matter? Nothing _he_ had done could possibly compare to what Al had done, and was yet willing to do for Ed.

For a moment, he daydreamed of what it would be like when Ed woke up – how Al would tell him about his adventures and discoveries, and then they would go back to Dante's library, and visit Central, and wouldn't Mustang be surprised!

An interminable amount of time later the door to the clinic opened, and Winry and Granny exited, both looking tired.

"He'll live," Winry announced, a strange look on her face.

Al jumped up, his entire body ready to move. He didn't care about what might happen to his lookalike; he wanted to see Ed.

"But the bullet wound was on the left side of his chest, wasn't it?" Rose asked. Against his will, Al found himself just a little bit curious. Wounds in that area usually tended to be fatal.

Granny sat down heavily at the table. She hadn't let her infirmity keep her away, though the effort had obviously taken its toll. "The young man is transposed," she said thoughtfully. "I read about that sort of thing years ago, though I've never seen somebody like that in real life."

"Transposed?" Rose wondered.

"Flipped," Winry sank down into a chair. "Sometimes people are born opposite – completely healthy, but with all their internal organs on the opposite side of the body from where they should be. So the bullet, which hit the left side of his chest, completely missed his heart, which is on the right side."

"Al," Granny said, her sharp tone arresting Al's movement through the door. He stopped, and turned around slowly. "I think you should tell us what you did."

All eyes were focused on him, and Al found himself suddenly nervous about the many questions he himself had.

Nevertheless, he didn't allow any of his uncertainty to surface. "I think it's obvious what I did," he said. "I brought Ed back."

Not even Rose was buying it, but it was Granny who spoke again.

"Then who is the other one, and how did he get shot?"

Two impulses warred within him. On one hand, it might be simplest to deny all knowledge. But he could also speak of his suspicions, and tell what he knew: that Ed had been trapped in another world, that in all probability this person had somehow followed him here. That the first time Al had glimpsed his lookalike, he had been clasped in Ed's arms, held close.

It barely bore thinking about, let alone speaking of.

"Shouldn't we wait for Ed to wake up, and ask him?" Al said instead, and fled into the clinic while they digested his words. Completely ignoring the drugged form of his lookalike who lay with an oxygen mask over his face and hooked up to in IV, Al made a beeline for his brother. Pulling over a chair, he sat down on Ed's left side, his eyes roving greedily over the contours of his face. Gently, he rested his fingers on Ed's palm, careful not to move the splint or jostle the needle in his vein.

He had succeeded. Ed was back, and Al would make sure he never left again. The only real question was why Ed hadn't woken up yet. Al felt a certain fear, at that – alchemy shouldn't affect a person so badly, and Al himself was _fine_, so why...? He pushed the thoughts away. Surely there was nothing to worry about.

From behind him he heard the door open and shut, and footsteps coming close.

"He's really here," Winry said softly, almost reverently. "You were right, all this time."

Surprised at both her words and her tone, Al looked up at her. Winry had tears in her eyes.

"I'm glad," she said fiercely.

And suddenly Al no longer wanted to gloat, and found his old anger at her dissipating. Winry had missed Ed, too. It wasn't her fault that she hadn't known he was coming back, the way Al had. Now everything was going to be _perfect_, and Ed would never have to know that he had been given up for lost.

_But_, one tiny part of Al's mind thought, cold and unforgiving, he had to protect Ed, and in order to do that, _he_ would have to remember.

* * *

Ever since Resembool had become more of a town and less of a village, wintertime drifters had become more common. Farm hands lacking work, younger sons bored by the winter months or looking to earn something to supplement their allowance, would come into town in search of odd jobs – shoveling snow, keeping the rails plowed and cleared (especially after blizzards), working in stores or helping patch houses damaged by the weather.

Brian had showed up at the beginning of the season, searching for work, and found it at the depot. He slept in a small room at the stationmaster's house, and during the day did odd jobs around the station. By all accounts he was quiet and unobtrusive, doing his work with no great enthusiasm, but no complaints, either. He called his family fairly often (when the phone lines weren't down), preferring short conversations by telephone to letters or telegrams.

So nobody took especial note when he went to the phone booth, paid, and spent several moments talking quietly.

"There was alchemy, today," he said, keeping his expression nonchalant, just in case anybody was watching. "I cannot confirm his identity, but word on the streets is that the Fullmetal Alchemist is back."

Silence, listening to the other end. Then-

"Yes, sir. I will continue observing for now."

* * *

_Whew. So there it is. Honestly, I was quite overwhelmed by the responses last chapter! You guys are so awesome. Now we're starting on the home stretch, the third and final part of the story - which, hopefully, will be as enjoyable as the first two._

_I'm going to take a moment and thank all the people who have been helping me (until now, and continuing to!) with the fic- Cryo, who remains the most wonderful beta ever, Naatz who is giving me some excellent grammar and stylistic nitpicking, CaptainKase for listening to my endless whining and being always encouraging, Song (who REALLY deserves thanks!) for listening to me when I call her up at midnight and start wailing about how the characters aren't cooperating AT ALL HELP ME, and my mom, for the excellent and constant medical advice, without whose expertise none of what you'll be seeing could have happened. (speaking of which, a public service announcement from her: if you find somebody seizing, do NOT try to stick anything in their mouth, which people apparently do too often for comfort. Proper treatment is rolling them onto their left side, tilting their head back a bit, and waiting for an ambulance....)_

_Also, I must thank Nichokiu, who actually submitted Mirrorworld for the UFO Fanfic Awards for 2008! That literally made my month. Thank you so much! I would be honored if you guys would vote for it, when the voting starts._


	32. Nigrum Nigrius Nigro

Dinner that night was a strange affair. Nobody spoke much, seemingly overwhelmed by everything that happened. Al couldn't keep the grin off his face, reminding himself every few minutes not to look _too_ smug.

None of them would meet his eyes – not Rose, not Pinako, especially not Winry – but Cain, who seemed to be trying to make up for everybody else's silence. He told them all about how he had built a snow fort with the Dickinson boys, and it was such an awesome snow fort, too! But then lights had flashed in the sky, and then Mrs. Dickinson had dragged them all inside.

Al felt the corners of his mouth twitch in amusement. At that point, however, Rose decided that it was late enough and hustled Cain off to bed. Al wondered if she was afraid of him hearing a fight.

He also wondered if she was right to worry. The words stood at the tip of his tongue, a dull anger pulsing behind them. _You were wrong, you were wrong! If I had listened to you, Ed might have been trapped there forever. How can you live, knowing you abandoned him?_

Before he could work up the courage to speak, though, the silence was broken from an unexpected direction.

"I think," Granny said suddenly in her dry voice, "that we are far too somber. Winry, there should be some pie from Midwinter in the icebox. Go heat it up in the oven."

For a moment, both Winry and Rose looked startled, but the tension vanished suddenly, as Winry flashed a quick smile and Rose let out a small, happy laugh.

Al didn't say anything, slightly ashamed. This was supposed to be a happy occasion. What would Ed think, if he heard that Al had picked a fight on his very first evening back?

"I suppose we _should_ celebrate," Winry said, getting up quickly. "Though it seems silly to, when Ed hasn't woken up yet..."

Ed's unconsciousness was the one thing still marring their happiness (that and Al's doppelganger, but he refused to think about him). But that wasn't reason enough not to make the most of this evening.

"We can do it again when he wakes up!" he said eagerly, anger pushed to the back of his mind.

"Oh!" Rose said, as Winry went into the kitchen, "Winry, we could bake him an apple pie! Ed was alw- _is_ fond of them, right?" She corrected herself, flushing a bit, and Al realized how _good_ it was to hear his brother talked about in present tense.

"Wonderful idea," Granny said approvingly.

Soon enough, Winry was back with four pieces of warm pie, and to Al it seemed that nobody around the table could keep the smiles off their faces.

Looking at how happy everybody was, Al knew that he had been right. Things would be different now – for the better.

* * *

On that first night of Ed's return, Al went to bed early. He had had a very brief discussion – too mild to even be termed an argument – with Winry about sleeping in the clinic next to Ed. She hadn't put up much of a fight, and Al had the sneaking suspicion that Winry was a bit jealous, and would have liked an excuse to sleep on a cot in the clinic herself

"Just remember I'm going to have to check up on Joe, there, during the night," Winry reminded him. Al didn't care if she wanted to parade oxen through the room all night, it wouldn't keep him from sleeping next to his brother.

He lay down in the dim light, on his left side so he could watch the steady rise and fall of Ed's chest. At first he thought he might be too excited to sleep at all, but before he knew it, his eyes had fallen shut, and he was fast asleep.

He awoke the next morning, and for one terrifying moment was afraid it had all been nothing more than a wild dream. Though the fact that both sight and smell confirmed he was in the clinic surely meant that...

Steeling himself, he looked to the side – and there was Ed, right where Al had last seen him. Within seconds he was wide awake, jumping off the bed and pulling a chair next to the bed. All thought of niceties like face-washing and breakfast were forgotten.

"Good morning, Brother," he said, the words impossibly sweet on his tongue. His lips were stretched in what must be a ridiculously silly smile, but he didn't care.

For a moment he considered waking Ed up, he was that excited. Surely Ed would want to know that everything had worked out fine!

No, he cautioned himself. Waking up his brother would be terribly inconsiderate; he _knew_ that Ed hadn't been sleeping enough lately. After all, if he didn't look after Ed, who would? Al felt a thrill of pleasure at the thought.

Al took no notice of the passage of time as he simply sat and enjoyed seeing Ed in the flesh, after so many hazy dreams. Ed had grown so much, it was startling, though Al supposed it made sense. Ed was twenty, now. His face was older, and he even had a dusting of fine gold stubble across his chin, further emphasizing his age. Though, Al thought quickly, discomfited at that train of thought, a lot of it was probably an illusion brought about by how haggard Ed looked. A nice, relaxing vacation was definitely in order. Maybe they could go south; Janona, for example, was a popular tourist destination in winter months.

Al allowed his eyes to stray down his brother's body. Winry had taken off his shirt when she had checked him up, so Al could see that his brother didn't look nearly as fit as he appeared in pictures. He was thin as opposed to lean, and his arm had less definition than he had expected. At least he wasn't still wearing that horrid gray shirt from yesterday. Al couldn't wait to see Ed in what he _should _be wearing, a long, red coat, and with his hair braided....

The door to the clinic opened, and Rose's voice called to him softly, "Al? Aren't you coming for breakfast?"

Al looked at her, then back at Ed, reluctant. He didn't want to leave, though it really wouldn't do any harm. Silent, so as not to wake Ed up, he slipped out of the chair and to the door. Only when it was shut tightly did they speak, neither wanting to disturb Ed's sleep.

"Winry was in during the night a few times, and she said you didn't even twitch," Rose said, amused. Keeping his dignity, Al ignored her and walked into the kitchen, where Winry waited. Granny wasn't around, and neither was Cain.

"Good morning," he said, and sat down to eat – porridge, as usual. He kept his eyes on his bowl, hoping to evade the questions he could see Winry was dying to ask. Questions which he probably wouldn't have answers to.

He ate methodically, and tried to draw it out as long as he could – carefully scraping up the last of it from the sides of the bowl and licking the spoon.

"Al," Winry finally said, and he knew he couldn't put it off any longer. "I need to know what you know about where Ed and Joe came from."

"I don't really know anything," Al hedged. He wasn't quite sure why he was so reluctant to share the information.

"_Anything_ you know might be important," Winry said intently. "I don't know if we're treating Joe properly. I assume he is human-"

Al looked at her sharply, and cut in, "What if he's a homunculus?" That would make sense, he thought with a thrill. Maybe he was an evil homunculus that had preyed on Ed, misleading him by making himself look like Al?

But if that was true, why would Ed have been holding him close, as if he were somebody precious?

Either way, _he_ was the real Al, and it was high time he took back his rightful place at Ed's side. The lookalike would have to find somebody else.

"If he was a homunculus, the bullet wound would have healed over already," Winry explained. "Even Wrath, who hasn't quite healed properly since he lost his limbs, heals much faster than normal."

"Speaking of Wrath, have you seen him around lately?" Rose asked idly. "I haven't seen him here since I came for Midwinter."

Winry shook her head. "But that's not surprising, he sometimes goes months without showing his face. Half the time he only shows up when he needs automail maintenance. Just like-" she cut herself off, then realized she no longer needed to.

Just like Ed, Al finished the sentence in his head. Ed had always wandered, only rarely returning, and the only person who had stayed by his side the whole time had been Al.

"Speaking of Ed and automail, though," Winry continued, "did you see the weird prosthetic Ed has now?"

"I noticed that too," Rose said. "What do you think of it?"

"It can't be much good," Winry said with a small sniff of disdain, "since it looks like it has to be kept strapped on. I wonder who built it for him."

"I wonder what happened to his automail," Rose murmured. Al pushed his chair back, unable to stand the separation from Ed any longer.

He left the two of them talking automail, and went to find a book. He was far too excited for anything alchemy-related, and pulled a dog-eared novel off one of the bookshelves. It looked like something silly and romantic – probably belonged to Rose or Winry, but he didn't really care. He just needed something to pass the time with until Ed woke up.

Book tucked under his arm, he stepped quietly back into the clinic. For a moment, curiosity overcame his aversion, and he stopped by Joe's bed. He looked a little less sickly than he had yesterday, but the lack of a great bleeding wound in the chest would do that to a person. His skin appeared to be naturally pale, several shades lighter than Al's, and his first impression had been correct: Joe looked remarkably like Al, but older, and paler. Along with the different coloring, the cast of his features was rather different from what Al was used to seeing when he looked in the mirror – a slightly different shape to his chin, a larger nose. Also disturbing was the fact that Joe looked just a bit like Ed himself. To somebody who didn't know, he could easily pass as a relative.

The truth was, Al did have suspicions about him that he wasn't quite ready to share. Joe was probably nothing more than a person from the other world Ed had been trapped in, who had tagged along for some reason. But his deep-seated suspicion, one he hardly dared admit to himself, was that _this_ was Ed's mysterious companion of his dreams, this was the person who looked after Ed and took care of him and –

That was _Al's_ job. He kept wondering why he wasn't perfect and Joe was, why he had been left behind, whereas Ed had taken Joe with him, why he _didn't remember_ –

Al forced himself away, pushing the thoughts down, turning towards his brother. He _knew_, without a sliver of doubt, that the same way he would never rest until Ed returned, Ed wouldn't betray him. That was why he couldn't engage in speculation, couldn't allow doubts to weaken him. When Ed woke up he would explain everything, and it would make sense once again.

Stiffly at first, then with growing eagerness, Al returned to his brother's bedside and sat back down. Almost as an afterthought he remembered the book, opened it, and sat staring at the first page blankly.

_It was the first day of summer, and the hot sun beat down on the back of her neck as she headed towards the fields._

He read the opening line several times until he actually registered what it said. It only took him that one line to realize he was profoundly uninterested in the book, but it was better than nothing. Better than just sitting here waiting for Ed to wake up. Al snorted to himself. If Ed woke up and found out that Al had just been sitting here watching him, he'd probably complain Al was being creepy.

Encouraged, Al took upon himself to continue reading, as the heroine ran away from home with a stranger she had fallen in love with, swearing to follow him to the ends of the world if necessary. Said stranger led a rather dangerous lifestyle, and soon enough was being pursued by several different people, all of whom apparently wanted a piece of him. Al found it silly, but oddly engaging, and certainly a distraction enough.

Around page two hundred, when the man was captured and put to trial for a crime he hadn't committed and the heroine was trying in vain to rescue him, Al was suddenly jerked out of the story. What disturbed him wasn't immediately obvious, and he looked around the quiet clinic in perplexity, until a movement from the bed caught his eye. Ed! Ed was stirring!

Al tossed the book aside, all pretense of reading forgotten.

"Brother?" he whispered hoarsely, watching his face intently. Eyelids fluttered, Ed's head moved from side to side restlessly, golden bangs falling in his face. He shifted, murmuring something unintelligible and mildly distressed.

"Brother," Al said, a bit louder, and resisted the urge to reach out and shake him. Ed shifted again, taking a few gasping breaths.

Then his eyes rolled open, revealing the vivid gold Al had seen in countless photographs.

"Brother," Al said again, exhaling the name on a sigh, eyes suddenly wet. There had been moments when he had thought this day would never come and now –

Now, well... Ed wasn't really _moving_, and that made Al's heart speed up in worry. Ed hadn't reacted to his words, and was just... lying there, staring up at the ceiling, eyes unfocused.

"Ed?" he tried, feeling rather strange calling his brother by name, but maybe that would be enough to snap him out of... whatever this was.

"Brother!" Al said, hardly noticing how his tone had risen, but even that wasn't enough to make Ed react, to snap intelligence back into his brother's eyes.

The door to the clinic slammed open, and Al dimly heard Winry's voice demanding what was going on, but paid no attention to it. Ed's face wrinkled a bit in distress, and he suddenly jerked, making strange flailing motions with his hand and prosthetic, trying to push himself into sitting position.

Unable to stand it any longer, Al reached out and grabbed him by the shoulders, shaking him a little. At that Ed finally reacted – or maybe he wasn't reacting, he didn't even seem to see Al. His eyes darted around wildly, focused on nothing, hoarse sounds escaping his mouth.

"Careful!" Winry said, suddenly on Ed's other side, and Al could see why – Ed had jerked his arm, hard, tearing the IV out of his hand, leaving a thin trail of blood. "Ed, wake up!"

"Brother!" Al tried to hold him down. "It's me, Al, everything's alright, Brother, _talk to me_," he practically shrieked. Winry grabbed Ed's other shoulder, and got elbowed harshly by the prosthetic for her efforts.

Ed was fighting them, his movements erratic, flailing his arms and legs with no great coordination, heedless of Al's pleas and Winry's shouts.

"What's going on?" It was Rose, frozen in the doorway, aghast.

"Push him down!" Winry snapped at Al, and the look in her eyes was enough to make him comply without question. He managed to get a grip on his brother's arm – even weakened, Ed was stronger than he expected – pressed an elbow down on Ed's chest, leaning his entire weight on him. Winry did likewise, pinning his shoulders to the mattress while Ed fought them mindlessly.

"Al, give me that strap, he's going to hurt himself!"

Now Al saw what he hadn't noticed before – of course, the bed came fully equipped with straps to immobilize a person. He hesitated one long moment, looking up at his brother's face pleadingly. Anything but this. Tying Ed down would mean there was no hope, all communication had failed –

Ed cried out something unintelligible, malformed words in no human language.

"Al!" Winry snapped. Al looked at her, and understood that no matter what she may have thought about Ed's chances of return, doing this _hurt_ her, just as much as it hurt him. He didn't know what was wrong, but, but, Ed couldn't be allowed to hurt himself.

Al grabbed the wide, heavy, canvas strap, handing its end over to Winry, grunting slightly with the effort of still holding his brother down. Winry maneuvered it into the buckle, and pulled it tight across Ed's chest.

When the strap cinched tight Ed's flailing redoubled (_see, he knows what's happening, he's sane he-_). Al's breath came short in a sob as his fingers slipped against Ed's wrist, sweat-slick, while Winry tied both of them down at his sides.

Al thought that might be enough, but Ed doubled himself over, managed to knee Winry in the back of her head as she leaned over him to close a strap around his waist, sending her sprawling momentarily across his torso. Then Rose was next to them and had Ed's left ankle strapped down as well, Winry recovered and helped capture his right one, and –

Then the three of them were standing silently, panting, watching in horrified silence as Ed struggled, his breath coming faster in panicked staccato. His entire body arched against the restraining straps, head twisting wildly from side to side, fingers clawing at the mattress.

"_Brother_," Al cried again, hoping against hope that maybe now Ed's eyes would suddenly focus, Ed would respond to his words, show him that the horrible suspicion was unfounded.

"Mama?" Cain's voice cut through the three of them, momentarily capturing their attention.

"Cain darling, come away," Rose hustled him out of the room, trying to keep her voice light but failing miserably. Al's eyes returned to his brother's struggling form, at a loss for words.

Sweat stood out on Ed's brow, the cords in his neck tight with effort as he fought mindlessly against his bonds, occasionally mumbling nonsense sounds.

Over his straining body Al's eyes found Winry's, and recognized in them the same utter hollowness he was feeling.

Momentarily exhausted, Ed sagged, panting for breath, and Al had barely begun to hope before he started again, though anybody could see he was tiring himself needlessly.

_What's wrong with him?_ Al wanted to ask Winry, but saw the same question hovering about her, in the pleading look she gave him.

_Do something_, Winry was asking. Just like Al had performed one miracle, retrieving him from wherever he had been lost, another one shouldn't be too much to ask, should it?

Al had no answer for her, just dropped helplessly back into his chair, a lump rising in his throat. True, he had retrieved Ed's body, but it looked like he had left his mind behind.

_

* * *

_

Al didn't know how long the two of them sat there in silence, watching Ed's pointless struggles. Nothing really changed; true, his flailing lessened, but more out of exhaustion than any understanding of what was happening to him.

Soon enough Ed lay mostly motionless, though his eyebrows were furrowed together in distress, staring up at nothing in exhaustion. Clearly Ed was suffering, in whatever prison his mind was trapped in. He still babbled occasionally in a miserable tone, sometimes repeating the same sounds over and over.

"Do you think it means anything?" Winry asked dully, once, trying to make sense of them.

"It's not even words," Al answered, only stating what Winry herself knew. The sounds barely qualified as more than just _sounds_, they had so little similarity to any known language.

He stared at the wall blankly, unable to watch Ed, yet equally unable to just pick up and leave the room, in the vain hope things would start making sense. A part of him still didn't realize this was reality, and expected to wake up and find it nothing more than a bad dream. Yes, any moment now he would –

"I can't stand it any more," Winry suddenly said, and stood up. For a moment Al thought she was going to storm out, but no – she was pulling things out of the cabinets, and moments later was back with a syringe.

"No!" Al protested, leaning over to shield his brother, who started struggling again the moment Al touched him. "Winry, you can't-!"

"At least he should rest," she said stubbornly, her eyes suspiciously liquid. "Maybe things will be different when he wakes up."

What could he say to that appeal? His heart ached for his brother, so he reluctantly pulled away, watching as Winry pushed the needle into his skin and depressed the plunger.

Ed struggled again at that, and Al _knew_ he had to be _somewhat_ aware, at least; they were going about this _all wrong_, they needed to be finding away to fix him, not....

With a soft whimper, Ed went lax, the tension seeping out of his body as his eyes drifted shut. As one, both Winry and Al stood up, turning away from him, faces stony. On the way out they passed by Joe's bed, where Winry paused, drawing Al's attention.

"Maybe he'll know what's wrong, when he wakes up," Winry said.

_If he wakes up_, Al thought.

"You're the alchemist," she said, her voice tight. "Was this the exchange? Will he also be...."

"I don't know," Al confessed. There had been _some_ sort of rebound, but he had felt it go through him – if anybody should have borne the brunt of it, it should have been him. He needed to think about it more, and to do that, he needed to get away from here.

Winry stayed behind to do some check-ups on Joe, who was looking more and more like some kind of salvation. Al thought for one moment that if that proved to be the case – if Joe could provide an answer to what had happened to Ed, he wouldn't mind him. Joe could be whatever he wanted to Ed, if it meant his brother would be okay.

He left the clinic in a hurry, disliking that train of thought. Outside the sun was shining, but what had looked this morning like a beautiful day now seemed dull and bleak. Through the window he caught a glimpse of Rose returning from the direction of the Goodmans', where she had probably dropped Cain off. Al stood for a moment, watching her, then decided he didn't want to be around to answer whatever questions she might have.

Even more, he didn't want to have to be the one to go tell Granny about what had happened. Vanishing right about now would probably be the best idea. Hastily, he pulled on his boots, scarf and coat, and exited through the back door.

It hadn't snowed for a few days, and the path he had broken to the woods where he had done the transmutation was still clearly visible. Numb, he followed it again, this time completely alone.

He passed between the stripped trees, the shattered splinters at the edge of the transmutation, then stepped back into the crater he had left so recently.

The ground here was still bare, though now damper than it had been. Al didn't really care, but pulled his coat under him as he sat down on the cold earth anyway.

He probably deserved to freeze, he thought. This was all his fault.

Startled at the thought, Al set to examining it more thoroughly. In his dreams, Ed had been quite... he forced himself to think the word: sane. Miserable, yes, tired, yes, but definitely completely aware of his surroundings. Could whoever was responsible for Joe's gunshot wound somehow have caused Ed to be like this?

Did he know anything about the circumstances leading up to Ed's return?

Well, yes. He knew Ed had.... Al's breath caught. He had dreamed something about Ed building an array. And when he had activated his own array... that alchemic signature had definitely been his brother's, he knew that with every fiber of his being.

Which meant... Al tried to deny the conclusion he was reaching, then was ashamed of himself for it. Because crazy people who had no contact with reality couldn't power an array like the one Al had linked with, which meant that Ed had been completely sane right up until that moment.

Until the moment Al had panicked when he tried to take over the array, until he had recoiled instinctively from so much energy, until he had attempted to force his own control over what he now knew had to have been a joint, double-ended array.

And somehow, in that backlash of energy, Ed had protected him – and Al must have thrown the energy back at him, burned through his mind. _Al_ had caused the rebound, because he was too careless, too _stupid_, and had tried to control an array far beyond his abilities. He could have easily ended up a gibbering idiot as well, had Ed not....

Once again Ed had protected him, sacrificed himself for Al. Ed had given his arm and leg, had somehow exiled himself to a different _world_ for Al's sake, and now lost his sanity. How selfish could Al get?

He might as well take his brother's life and be done with it, he thought bitterly, tears starting in his eyes. He hadn't left Ed much to live with.

For a while, he just sat there silently, tears drawing warm paths down his cheeks that quickly turned cold in the air. He couldn't help but replay the transmutation over and over in his mind, trying to pinpoint the exact moment it had happened. Given how the energy had burned when it blasted through him, Al could only imagine the kind of agony Ed had suffered in his last moments of consciousness. The thought only made his tears flow faster.

_Get a grip_, he finally told himself harshly. Wallowing in self-pity did Ed no good. Al sniffled and wiped his nose on his sleeve roughly.

Maybe someday Ed would get better. Until then, Al would have to think about how he was going to provide for him.

All his fantasies of traveling together, studying alchemy, fixing up the godawful mess Amestris was currently in – all those dreams would have to be shelved. Reality called him to forget those childish thoughts, and consider the future as it _would_ be.

A future of working to earn money so Ed could be taken care of properly. Somebody would need to be found to watch over Ed when Al wasn't there, which would probably be often.

Not that it mattered, he thought bitterly, pushing himself up off the ground. He swayed a moment, then trudged heavily out of the crater. It didn't look like Ed would know if Al was there or not. Ed didn't have a clue what was going on around him.

Cresting the hill, the houses of Resembool came into sight, each one with its neat plowed paths, and cozy trails of smoke rising from the chimney. At that moment, Al hated them all with a terrible passion, and realized that he now had the one missing piece to truly understanding his brother. He knew why Ed had been so keyed up, so temperamental, so angry all the time.

Looking around at all those happy families, and knowing that through your own actions, such a thing would forever be lost to you....

"It's not fair," Al choked out, his voice pitiful.

Resigned, he turned back to the house, pushing the small desire to just run away from everything until he could run no more to the back of his mind. Straightening his shoulders, he tried to practice a stoic look. Ed had never given up on him, and it was up to Al to do likewise. He couldn't let anybody see his weakness.

The sun was already low in the west, casting cold shadows across the snow. Al must have spent longer than he had thought in the woods. With that realization, he suddenly noticed how _cold_ he was, and pulled his coat tighter about himself.

Despite what he knew awaited him inside, the house looked inviting and warm, and against his will he felt a glimmering of hope.

Up the half-frozen stairs, and he was inside, the warmth enveloping him. He hung his coat and scarf on the nails by the door, kicked off his wet boots, and tiptoed into the house, unsure what kind of welcome might await him.

In the living room he caught sight of Winry, her golden head bent over the automail arm that lay before her on the low table. Screws, wrenches, and pliers lay strewn around, and Al could tell by the mess that she wasn't really getting anything done, just puttering.

He recognized the arm from a previous visit, though it hadn't been finished yet then. It was the one Winry had built for Ed, which now he might never use.

Granny was also up, and working on dinner. She stood over the stove, stirring something in a pot with sharp, angry movements. Al elected not to say anything.

As if called, he drifted to the clinic, then slipped inside, and froze in surprise. Next to Ed's bed sat Rose, who was singing something softly under her breath, and slowly stroking Ed's hair with one hand.

More surprising, though, was the fact that Ed was actually quiescent – and not from drugs. His eyes were empty but open, and he didn't seem to be bothered by the touch. Not that he had enough expression for Al to tell if he actually _registered_ it, but he certainly seemed calmer.

Now that he was closer, Al could see that somebody – probably Rose – had taken it upon herself to wrap soft cloth around Ed's wrists and over his bare chest, to keep the straps from chafing.

_I should have thought of that_, Al thought guiltily.

At the sound of his footsteps Rose started and glanced up at him. Her hand fell away from Ed, and her soft expression was replaced by something hard and unforgiving.

"How could you?" she hissed, keeping her voice low. Not that Ed seemed to notice the noise, or the removal of her hand.

"W-what?" Al stammered, taking a step back.

"_This_ is how you show your love for your brother?" Rose demanded, standing up suddenly. "By running away, and leaving him here?"

"It's not like he can tell the difference!" Al returned, rather louder than he had intended. To his shame, the tears he had managed to suppress came to the surface again.

"How do you know?" she demanded, taking a step towards him. "How do you know what he feels, how much he's aware of? How _could_ you know your presence would make no difference to him?"

_Oh god, it was true, it was true, what had he done?_

"Look at him!" Al cried, defensive in spite of himself. He waved a hand wildly at his brother's still form. "What was I supposed to-"

"And," Rose interrupted, which was already enough to make Al fall silent in shock, "how do you expect him to ever get any better if you won't even _try_?"

Al had always known that Rose had been involved in the Lioran Resistance, but until now had never been able to imagine how somebody so soft-spoken and generally _nice_ could have survived the rebellion. Now he was beginning to have an inkling. There was a steely knot of determination, there, that refused to be cowed.

"I'll try, then," he almost snarled. "I'll find a way to bring him back to himself." Four years of effort had gained him this much; maybe with another four years, he could complete his task.

Rose watched him coldly for a moment, then her face softened. Laying a gentle hand on Al's shoulder, she squeezed a little. "I'm sure you will," she said. "You were right about him being alive, after all."

Despite her words, Al didn't feel particularly comforted. They had a hollow ring to them. Bringing Ed back from wherever he had been lost was an achievement so difficult as to be incomprehensible, and in that very incomprehensibility was somehow believable. Restoring sanity was so _mundane_ it seemed like a far more difficult task, at the moment. And now he had no Wrath to conveniently show up and hand him the answers.

Maybe, though... he suddenly remembered Dante's library, and wondered if an answer might not be found somewhere amongst those many books. Maybe-

"Dinner!" Came Granny's voice, interrupting his reverie.

Exchanging a look with Rose, they both turned and headed towards the kitchen. Al paused once, looking back at his brother, who was tensing against his bonds once again, letting out a small, plaintive wail.

Steeling himself, Al left the room. A solution would have to be found. Fast.

* * *

The tentative gaiety of last night was nowhere to be found. Oppressive silence enveloped the table, and nobody would meet anybody else's eyes for fear of what they might see. Only the insistent clink of dishes being passed and silverware against porcelain broke the pall of quiet, but not loudly enough to mask the occasional cries Al could hear from the clinic – or imagined he could hear.

"The three of you," Granny suddenly said tartly, "are absolutely ridiculous."

Startled, Al looked up at her, along with both Rose and Winry.

"Ed has barely been back for a day, and you've already written him off as hopeless," she stated. As if there was some other conclusion they were supposed to draw, Al thought incredulously.

Winry apparently thought the same. "Have you _seen_ him?" she demanded, slamming her fork down on the table. Granny was undaunted.  
"Yes, I have. Considering the boy has returned from who-knows-where, underwent a major alchemical process along the way, and bears several new scars that are far too big for his body, I would say he's doing rather well!" she snapped.

"I suppose that's true," Rose said, with a nervous laugh. "We _have_ been jumping to conclusions, haven't we?"

_No, we haven't_, Al thought. They didn't know that this situation was all his fault, that he had screwed up that all-important transmutation. He knew he should tell them, but it suddenly seemed too frightening. Admitting to such a deed would be.... He shuddered a bit.

Luckily Granny didn't seem to be expecting an answer. "Now, the three of you can stop overreacting, and give Ed a few days to recover before you write him off as a total loss."

* * *

Waiting for Ed to regain his senses would have been a lot simpler if Ed would actually start getting on with it. His situation didn't seem to be much improved the next morning when Winry decided to try and see if they could feed him. Ed fought and struggled, turned his face away from her insistent fingers, and made indignant sounds.

"Maybe we should try untying him," Rose suggested. Winry concurred, so they hesitantly released the straps on his chest and arms. The moment he was free Ed started attacking them, though his movements had the same lack of coordination they had had yesterday. 　At least he hadn't tried to use alchemy against them yet; that _would_ be dangerous.

Rose had gotten an unpleasant clout across the face from Ed's automail replacement and Winry had her hair pulled before the three of them managed to wrestle him back down and tie him up, amidst Ed's hopeless, angry cries.

It was quite obvious that Ed didn't recognize them one bit, and that convincing him to eat wouldn't work. Lacking any other option, Winry put the IV back into him, and hooked him up to some fluids and nutrients.

"I can't hang around here anymore," Winry said, sounding like she needed to convince herself more than anybody else. "Rose, we need to change Joe's bandages, and then I need to get to work on Haldane's leg. I need to work."

Al didn't protest, didn't even look up at her. He couldn't tear his eyes away from Ed, searching in vain for some sign that he knew what was going on. Ed seemed to take umbrage at being tied down – that had to be something, right?

Winry and Rose puttered around Joe's bed, and Al listened with half an ear when Rose said something about putting out laundry to freeze-dry before the next snow. Winry left as well, and he was alone in the clinic.

Hoping the sound of his voice might help his brother, he decided to think aloud (albeit softly), as he tried to figure out what he should do.

"Brother," he said, pulling a chair closer to his bed. "Granny says you'll be okay. I don't know if that's true, but I'm sure that I'll find a way to fix you up."

If Ed heard his promises, he made no sign of it.

Forcing cheer into his voice, Al told Ed about one of his adventures – the tragedy he had averted at the steel mill in Starling, the furthest west he had ever traveled. His brother's complete lack of response was disheartening. He didn't register the changes in Al's tone, didn't notice when Al waved his arms to demonstrate a particularly exciting point. Only once did he make any noise, a confused murmur that preluded another bout of struggling against the straps.

If only he could know what was going on in Ed's head! It seemed to Al that the solution then would become so simple. Once they knew what Ed registered and how, they could treat him properly.

"I want to know what happened to you," Al said, leaning forward, scrutinizing Ed's face for a reaction. "You were in some other world, right? What was it like, there? Where did your new arm come from? Did you miss me?"

Abruptly he felt rather stupid, having asked that last disconsolate question. Of _course_ Ed had missed him, it was ludicrous to imagine otherwise.

What could he _do_? Al wondered. Did he even know any alchemy that could help with this sort of thing? The only thing that sounded plausible involved Human Transmutation, and he wasn't about to try _that_.

But his soul transmutation _wasn't_ like that, he told himself quickly. Everybody knew how dangerous Human Transmutation was, and the usual results of that; it was nothing like what he did with his soul. After all, he never tried to _revive_ anybody or anything of the sort. And since he had never experienced any ill effects, it stood to reason that there was absolutely nothing wrong with doing it.

A strange idea taking root in his mind, Al looked at his brother again, this time speculatively. He had only ever attached his soul to inanimate objects.

What would attaching his soul to a living creature be like?

What if he tried attaching part of his soul to _Ed_?

He nearly discarded the thought out of instinctive horror, but forced himself to be rational. Soul alchemy had never done him any harm; he was sure of that. Nor had it changed any of the things he had come into contact with in any discernible fashion. What could happen? Maybe nothing, in which case Ed would be no worse off. But maybe this would give him the crucial insight necessary to helping Ed out of whatever prison his mind was locked in.

And it wasn't like he could actually _damage_ his brother any worse than he-

Horrified, Al caught himself. "I'm sorry, Brother," he said desperately, ashamed of the thought. "I didn't mean it."

Ed blinked vacantly up at the ceiling, looking miserable.

Wasn't Ed's suffering enough of a reason to _try_? Al thought. Waiting around to see if anything would happen might pay off, but why subject Ed to any more anguish than necessary?

"You'd want me to fix this up as soon as possible, wouldn't you?" he asked, just a bit breathlessly, though he didn't really expect an answer. And anyway, he wasn't actually trying to _do_ anything to Ed yet. This was just going to be... reconnaissance. Just to check what was wrong with him. "I won't be transmuting you, don't worry. I'm transmuting myself."

Remembering what Rose had done yesterday, he reached out to stroke Ed's hair gently, wanting him as calm as possible. Ed jerked under his hand, and tried to roll his head away. When Al's hand followed his movement, Ed swiftly turned his head again, and Al had to snatch his fingers away to avoid being bitten.

"Brother!"

Ed let out a sound vaguely like a snarl, his entire body tense. His head twitched slightly, as if ready to fend of any more touches.

So much for that.

The appeal of attempting alchemy grew with each passing moment. Why prolong this?

Al glanced quickly at the door. Neither Rose nor Winry were in sight, and Granny probably wouldn't be coming in. There was nobody to catch him at it... because it would be embarrassing if it didn't work. Yes.

"I'm going to try and see if I can help you," he told Ed. His hands shook just a bit as he pulled down the sheet that covered his brother, exposing his chest. The large, frightening scar in the center made Al pause for a moment as he wracked his brains, trying to remember a story that corresponded to that one.

Focus, he admonished himself. There would be time enough to quiz Ed when he was lucid again.

"Shhh, Brother," he murmured. Ed seemed to register that something was going to happen, and was looking around frantically and straining, eyes darting around without actually focusing on anything.

Al took a moment to compose himself, waited for the precise second when everything _clicked_ in his mind, bringing his alchemy to the surface. For some reason, it seemed to come to him a lot easier than usual, and in no time at all he had touched his hands together, and pressed his palms to his brother's chest.

For a moment he stood, the alchemy crackling against his fingers, his eyes on his brother's face, the skin of his chest warm under his hands, and then he felt himself disassociate. Everything blurred around him, consciousness faded, and he sank deep into suffocating darkness.

_In the pitch blackness it was difficult to know anything. Mostly he drifted, helpless, and content in his helplessness. Losing Alfons, he had lost everything, and not even gained anything in return. __W__hen he surfaced occasionally from drowning in the sea of information flooding his mind, the black silence of limbo left him free to dream of Alfons, of what little time they had had together. _

_Sporadic periods of lucidity interrupted his dreams – times when he knew that something was happening to him, when he tried to move his arms and realized they were tied down, when he felt needles in his veins (oh god he hated needles) and alien touches on his skin. He fought them – he didn't want to be a captive, he didn't want people touching him the way only Alfons was supposed to. _

_Trying to communicate took more effort than he was often capable of, and when he managed to collect his scattered thoughts enough to try, he was either systematically ignored or was simply failing to make contact. He didn't know; he could see nothing, hear nothing, had no idea if he was somehow back in America or in Amestris or lost in the fourth dimension._

_And Alfons was gone, lost as a result of his own stubborn vanity._

_Hands on him again snapped him into lucidity, and he struggled uselessly, trying to escape. He felt a crackle of electricity, the sharp smell of ozone – alchemy! Tingling against his skin, running through him – oh god, he was an experiment, the unknown hands belonged to an alchemist who would twist his body, deform it, leaving him a shapeless monster. _

_He struggled, but couldn't get away, and then he felt as _something_ sank into him, invading his mind, picking its way through his thoughts – No, get out, leave me alone, what the hell do you think you're doing?_

_I don't want to be an experiment – NO don't touch my memories! Stop, it HURTS, it – please, tell me what you want from me, just end it, it hurts it _hurts_ –_

_He was in hell, yet some part of him rejoiced – he deserved this pain for what he had done to Alfons, he had no right to continue living when he had caused Alfons' death._

_The presence burned through his mind, throwing his thoughts into disarray, and he tried to fight it, tried to push it AWAY, but how was he supposed to grasp something that didn't exist? How was he-_

Sharp pain across the side of his face, and Al collapsed to the side, his thoughts a muddle, unable to understand what was going on around him. There was so much _noise_, suddenly, so much color and movement and-

"_Answer me, Al, what's going on here?_" Winry shrieked, standing over him, a wrench clutched in one white-knuckled hand. Her expression was frightening, frozen halfway between anger and terror, and Al wanted nothing more than to explain everything. He tried to formulate an answer, but it was too difficult to think around Ed's – _screams –_

In the background he saw his brother arching against the straps hysterically, screaming wordlessly, but no, the words echoed in his mind. Loud, angry, despairing... he couldn't think, and Winry was shouting at him again, but focusing took too much of an effort.

Panic rose, _he was trapped, he was tied down, Something was tearing through his mind, _that wasn't him, it was Ed, HE was the one hurting his brother!

Al tried to pull out, pull back, and for a moment felt the straps around his own arms and legs, and Ed jerked and cried out in response from the bed. He had to stop, but he didn't know _how_ to end the transmutation, he had never had to before!

Winry and Rose were rushing about, Al dimly registered from his place on the floor. He tried to get up a few times, but couldn't – every time he tried to move, he grew confused, because he _felt_ the straps holding him down, and he couldn't think around the racket in his mind.

_Another needle, were they going to drug him again? Mixed relief and terror; unconsciousness would be preferable, but but OH the pain... fading...._

And then Al was alone in his head, the world strangely edged and silent, gasping on the floor. His limbs were his own, and his thoughts were his own. Slowly, hesitantly, he looked up, to find three pairs of furious eyes on him.

Winry caught his gaze first. She was positively shaking, and a strange horror reflected in her eyes – she had seen something similar, once, and it still scared her. Rose had a steadying hand on her arm, but Al could see that beneath the thin layer of calm she was just as horrified.

And Granny.... She looked at him with such disappointment in her gaze that Al could hardly bear it.

"Please explain," Granny said, an edge of steel to her voice. Al gulped.

"I didn't mean to, I didn't know that would happen!" he rushed, practically stumbling over the words. His mouth was dry, his temples were pounding. Too much alchemy. He wouldn't try to stand up, yet, though he was at a disadvantage, looking up at the three of them.

"What was _supposed_ to happen?" Winry snapped. "What did you-"

"Winry."

"I was trying to help-"

"He was doing some kind of _Human Transmutation_!" Winry shouted. "That never ends well, Al, _haven't you figured it out by now_?"

"I wasn't!" But the words came out uncertain. Looking at their faces, for the first time Al wondered if he had gone too far.

"_Children,_" Granny snapped, and there was momentary silence. "Al, regardless of your motives, you behaved irresponsibly."

He _had_, and he knew it – the memory of his brother's screams still echoed in his mind horribly – but he wouldn't back down. He would do _anything_ for -

"You are to leave this room, and stay away from Ed, at least until we can determine that no further damage has been done," Granny continued, and Al's train of thought came to an abrupt halt.

"Rose, take him to his room."

"You can't do that!" Al exploded, leaping to his feet, shakiness forgotten. "He's my brother! You won't keep me away from him!"

"Why?" Winry shouted, taking a threatening step forward. "So you can kill him next time?"

"Winry!"

But Al didn't hear what Granny said to her, too overcome by the shock of her words. Did Winry really think him so reckless as to try something _now_, after- ? He didn't resist as Rose urged him out of the clinic and up the stairs. He hadn't _meant_ to hurt Ed, he hadn't known that was going to happen!

"Rose..." he looked up at her, pleading, searching for absolution in her gaze. "I wouldn't hurt him. You believe me, right?"

She didn't say anything, but her lips tightened, and the grip on his arm didn't relax. "I heard him screaming," she said. "I ran to the clinic, and I found him struggling against alchemy _you_ were doing on him. I don't know what to believe." She paused, took a breath, and when Al looked up at her he saw tears in her eyes.

"Oh, Al, couldn't you have _waited_ just a bit longer? We would have figured something out."

Guilt rising to choke him, Al said nothing more, just allowed her to nudge him into his room. Behind him the door swung shut and clicked, and he was alone. Numb, he walked over to his bed and sat down on it, pulling his knees up to his chest and the blanket around his shoulders, his throat tight.

In his mind he could hear Ed's agonized cries playing over and over, and felt nauseous. He doubted he would ever be able to forget them (and some small part of him recognized that he _shouldn't_), they felt burned into his brain. He was a monster for doing that to his brother, he thought. Ed had been tied down and helpless, and he had effectively _tortured_ him, and now Ed thought he was an _experiment_-

Wait. Wait.

Al's eyes jerked open, and he brushed away the tears furiously. How could have been so _stupid_ as to miss what he had learned from the whole fiasco?

Ed wasn't crazy.

The realization made the air escape his lungs on a gasp, and he felt dizzy. He had sensed clear, lucid thoughts in his brother's mind – the words Ed had screamed begging him to stop and-

Focus on the positive. He dragged his mind away from the memory and tried to figure out the mess of impressions. Ed's mind had been chaotic, but wouldn't a lot of that be because of the pain? If so, what was wrong with him? Why didn't Ed respond when he was talked to, why didn't he recognize them?

For a short while, he had _been _Ed. Althought back to roiling, suffocating darkness of Ed's mind. Darkness. He had felt the straps, the needles, the chill on his skin, smelled the acrid hospital odor of the clinic, but he hadn't _seen_ anything.

Ed was blind.

Al jumped up and started pacing furiously, trying to piece together what was wrong with his brother. Could it possibly be so simple? Ed was blind, and couldn't see them, didn't... he didn't know where he was. He didn't know _who_ they were. Because.... He thought back again, to the terrifying dark silence....

Of course, of course, how could they have been so _dense_? Ed was blind _and_ deaf, so _no wonder_ he didn't respond when talked to! And since Ed didn't have a clue what was going on, it wasn't surprising that he was fighting them tooth and nail, it was only characteristic of his brother to fight against what he perceived as a threat.

Al sank down on the bed, a relieved smile on his face. His big brother wasn't crazy. All they had to do now was find a way to communicate with Ed, and then things would work themselves out. Urgency made him jump right back up and tear out through the door. There was no time to waste; he had to get to Ed. He wouldn't leave his brother thinking he was the captive of a mad alchemist a moment longer.

Only when he got downstairs and saw Rose by the stove did he remember what had happened. Maybe he could-

"Al." She turned to look at him, eyes narrowed. He gulped.

"Listen, Rose, I think I figured it out," he rushed, "I just need to-"

"Just go away, Al," she cut him off, tiredly. She looked away, setting down Cain's shirt she was mending in her lap, a pile of blue. "Give us a rest."

"Rose." Al took a step forward. Winry probably wouldn't listen, she had never listened to him, but Rose might be able to be won over. "He's not crazy. I know that if I can-"

"You're pushing it!" Rose suddenly looked back at him, sparks in her violet eyes. "You were right about him not being dead. I admit that. But you need to _stop_. You've lost all sense of proportion. Take a deep breath and _think_."

"_He's not crazy!_" Al practically shouted, his entire body shaking. "He's lying there tied up, he thinks he's-"

"And how would you know that?" Winry asked softly. She stood at the door to the clinic, leaning against it, probably having heard his shout.

"I-I saw," Al faltered, suddenly unsure. Telling them he had invaded his brother's mind to get the information... the thought of what he had done made him feel ill, again. He shouldn't have done that alchemy. But at least now he _knew_. "Look," he rushed ahead, not liking their calculating looks, "if we can just find a way to communicate with him... I think the reason he didn't understand anything until now is because he's blind. And deaf."

"You can't know that," Winry said, and Al really didn't like the sharp look she was giving him.. "What _did_ you do to him? How did you come up with this?"

"I...." No words presented themselves. Al just stood there, mute, afraid of admitting it, afraid of confessing that he was the monster he could see they were starting to think he was. Telling them he had violated Ed's mind would not go over well.

"I don't want to know," Rose said, standing up decisively. "I think we should see if he's right. But Al," she met his eyes, and there was absolutely nothing warm in her gaze, "promise me you're going to be careful."

"I-"

"Do one better," Winry interrupted. "Promise that from now on you're going to tell us what you're doing, and why."

Slowly, Al nodded acquiescence. But, he told himself, no matter what, Ed came first. In a silent line, the three of them entered the clinic.

They ended up having to wait several hours until an attempt at communication could be tried. Winry had given him only a light dose of sedatives, but it was enough to have Ed lying relatively peacefully, exhibiting no interest at all in anything.

Winry paced the floor, fiddling periodically with medical equipment. Rose was calmer, at least outwardly. She sat on a chair next to the bed, and hummed tunelessly to herself, breaking off every so often with a shake of her head, only to start again.

Al alternated between watching Ed like a hawk, hoping he would show signs of being awake enough to try, and forcing himself to look away, on the idea that a watched pot never boils. In an attempt to distract himself, he went over to Alfons' bed and stood there, watching him.

Color was coming back into Alfons' face, though his skin was still pasty-white. He was naturally light, though, and Al knew that even healthy, Alfons' skin could be frighteningly pale.

With coloring like that it was to be expec-

Cold sweat broke out on Al's skin, as he realized the turn his thoughts had taken. Alfons? Where had that name come from? Looking at _Joe_, he knew without a sliver of doubt that his name was Alfons, and he knew that Alfons tended to be sickly, and he could still feel a horrific guilt at killing...

Al shook his head to clear it. These weren't his thoughts. They had to have come from Ed's mind – Ed, who thought Alfons was _dead_. Who thought that he _deserved_ to be tormented for causing Alfons' death.

The only other person in Ed's thoughts had been this – this _copycat_, Al thought, furious. He even had practically the same _name_ as Al!

_I won't give him to you_, Al thought at his lookalike, and denied himself a twinge of despair. Ed loved him. He loved Ed, and his brother loved him, and nobody could come between them. Definitely not a pathetic copy of him, who Ed somehow had... _latched_ onto, probably because Al himself hadn't been there for him.

He turned his back, and tried to swallow a lump he couldn't keep out of his throat, because he _remembered_ just how much Ed cared about Alfons, felt an echo of the feelings inside himself.

"Is something wrong?" Winry asked, and he looked up, startled. Wordless, he shook his head, unable to trust his voice.

"It shouldn't be much longer, now," she said for the fourth time in the last twenty minutes. "I didn't give him a large dose."

"We know, Winry," Rose said tiredly, "he'll wake up soon enough. The two of you are so antsy, you're driving me insane."

"Sorry," Winry said absently, her eyes not moving from Ed.

"Sit _down_," Rose said, and when Al and Winry reluctantly complied, started telling them about a wonderful eggplant casserole recipe somebody in Lior had taught her. It was possibly worse than just sitting in silence, Al thought privately, but didn't say anything.

"Maybe we should try this tomorrow," Winry said at some point. "So we can be totally sure-"

"No!" Al burst out. "No," he said again, when they both gave him distrustful glances. "He's scared," Al tried to explain, remembering the almost-incoherent terror he had felt. "We can't let him stay like that..." The words trailed off as he snapped back to himself. Shit, he had said too much again. Winry had her eyes narrowed at him, and he was afraid of the conclusions she might draw, might have already drawn.

He had always expected to tell them about his alchemy one day, and had wondered what their reactions would be. He had known they probably wouldn't be particularly pleased, might even suspect him eavesdropping and such. But now... after this fiasco, he realized that it would be far more difficult than he had anticipated. Convincing Winry to accept that his alchemy was benign, after what he had done to Ed.... Truthfully, Al himself was starting to feel a certain disquiet about how simple misusing it had been.

"Don't say anything to Grandma," Winry said suddenly.

"Why?" Al asked.

"Because you're not supposed to be in here at all," she answered, and then everybody was quiet for a while longer.

Soft murmuring from Ed caught everybody's attention, but Winry insisted it was too early.

"If you want him to be in any state of coherence," skepticism about how much coherence Ed was capable of was audible, "we need to wait a bit longer."

Al chafed at the delay, but he recognized the necessity. To try too soon, and risk failure, was more than he thought he could stomach at this point.

Finally Winry looked at the clock, stood up, and silently began checking him. She took his pulse, checked the dilation of his pupils (which Ed was gratifyingly annoyed at), puttered with a few more measurements, then stood back.

"Okay," she said, and looked at Al expectantly. "The drugs should be out of his system. What now?"

Al swallowed, his throat dry, and thought back to the mess of remembered impressions. "We need to untie him."

"We should take out the IV, in that case," Rose observed. Winry nodded once, then went to remove it. Ed tensed and babbled furiously at them, the sound of his voice loud after the relative silence of the past few hours. She ignored him studiously, and carefully pressed gauze to the small wound.

"We have to keep his hands apart," Winry said. Al looked at her blankly for a moment, before he realized the implications. If Ed did alchemy in this state, it could be dangerous for everybody. It occurred to him to wonder why Ed hadn't tried alchemy before, but chalked it up to disorientation.

"Can you hold him?" he asked. He didn't want to keep Ed immobile, but it was the only way.

"I'll sit on him if I have to," Winry growled.

"You two hold him down, and I'll try to make contact," Al decided.

"How?"

"Morris Code," he said, in a flash of inspiration. The three of them had often used the telegraph code to communicate when they were young, and Winry nodded in approval.

Ed seemed to realize something was happening. He tensed when Rose fumbled with the heavy buckle holding the straps on his chest, and tried to lurch forward, but Winry leaned on him to hold him down. They untied his prosthetic arm as well, not knowing if he had any sensory input from it. Even free, it lay quiescent and limp on the bed next to him, so they concluded it didn't.

They spoke little, only short phrases to describe what needed to be done: "Grab his arm." "Don't let him hurt himself." "Watch his teeth." "Oww! Careful!" "Can you hold that for me?"

Then Al untied his brother's right arm and fought to keep hold as Ed thrashed and flailed. Al wanted nothing more than to let go; he knew what Ed must be thinking, knew his brother must wonder if this was some additional torment, or a possible chance to escape.

When Ed realized he couldn't break Al's grip, he sagged back on the bed, his face a grimace of unmasked despair.

Al tried to pet his arm comfortingly, but gave up when Ed made a distressed sound and tried again to break away. Remembering Ed's dislike of the disembodied touches, he stopped being gentle, and just tried to make the touch as impersonal as he could.

Considering the logistics, he frowned, then sat down on the bed next to him. He shifted his grip so Ed's arm was held in the crook of his elbow, and used his hands to uncurl his brother's fingers. Ornery, Ed immediately clenched his hand shut once more. Al fought with him, trying to pry his fingers open, but Ed was uncooperative and muttered something that sounded vaguely challenging.

"Stop, Al," Winry said, and Al was surprised to hear a strange sort of humor in her voice. "Just write somewhere else."

"He's definitely aware," Rose murmured, looking at Ed's furious face. "This is just like him."

"Fine," he agreed, turned Ed's hand over, and began tapping with his index finger on the back of it.

_You are home_, he coded, something simple. He coded patiently, not hurrying, careful to emphasize each letter. When he finished the sentence, he started again from the beginning, watching Ed's face intently for reactions.

"What's he-"

"'You are home'," Winry answered, following the movement of his finger with her eyes.

Ed would respond eventually, he knew. Repeating the same code over and over, at some point his brother couldn't help but notice it.

"Come on, Brother," he murmured, repeating it again. Ed was staring off into space, the look of displeasure slowly fading. Nothing painful had happened to him yet; he must be trying to understand what was going on. Every so often he struggled, almost as if to make sure Al, Rose and Winry were still holding him, but he didn't talk any more.

Al's hands were getting tired, but he didn't let up. Maybe this cycle, maybe the next one, and he would get a response. Thankfully, neither of the women said anything about how long this was taking.

Ed's brow furrowed suddenly in an expression more thoughtful than angry. Heart fluttering with hope, Al tapped out his message again, then paused.

A frown crossed Ed's face, and his mouth moved silently. Al tapped it out again. _You are home_.

Now Ed looked perturbed, and was shifting his head, trying to look at Al. _You are safe_, Al wrote, and at the variation a disbelieving expression crossed Ed's face. He tried to tug his hand out of Al's grip, and this time, Al took a risk and let him. The intake of breath from the three of them was almost comically loud.

Ed flailed about with his hand for a moment, but made no violent moves. Gently, Al pulled it towards him, and pressed his brother's finger against his own palm, in a clear invitation. Would it work? He felt dizzy, lungs reaching for air that didn't seem present, could hardly think or even hope.

Ed said something, and Al pressed his finger more insistently against his palm. "We can't understand you," he murmured, though he knew Ed couldn't hear him. He tapped on Ed's hand again, beginning the sequence for _write it out, _but Ed shook his hand away irritably. Apparently having gotten the hint, his brother froze, stared up with a deep frown on his face, and then – his finger was moving, tapping rhythmically against Al's hand.

_What_?

Rose let out an excited cry, and Winry hugged her. For a moment Al couldn't move, he was so overcome by relief, but he quickly moved to answer.

_I am Al_, he wrote, and waited. He could practically see the gears turning in his brother's mind, watched as Ed decoded – realized what he had said – and pure, raw hope filled his expression.

_Al_? He fumbled, and made a strangled sound. Not needing any cues, Rose and Winry slipped back, allowing him to sit up. Ed flailed and reached for Al, who grabbed his flesh hand and pressed it against his cheek. Since Ed couldn't see, he would have to feel the truth of what Al was saying.

Curious yet hurried, the fingers traced his features, pausing slightly when they felt the slight wetness at his eyes. It was a terribly strange feeling, that blind exploration, and not a little awkward, but Al didn't flinch. The strangeness couldn't keep the grin off his face, and he reveled in the _intelligence_ in his brother's blank eyes.

Finally he captured Ed's hand again, and tapped on it, _it's me, Brother_.

Then, almost before they knew what was happening, Ed was laughing, had thrown his arms around Al and seemed hell-bent on squeezing the life out of him. Al hugged him right back, as hard as he could, and buried his face in Ed's shoulder. With a glad cry suddenly Winry was on top of them, her arms wrapped around both of them at once, and Ed realized quickly who she was, and did his best to hug her back.

For Al, though, the entire world vanished, and all he could think of was Ed, and how maybe now, _finally_, things would start working out.

* * *

_**A/N**: I apologize for the super-late chapter, but I'm in the middle of my exam period now, so likely the next chapter will be a bit late also. Credit for Ed's various afflictions to my mom, who explained that this was The Only Way. Thanks to my betas, as always, for being wonderful._

_Also, voting for the UFO Awards should be starting (it says March 1st, but I guess it's not yet March 1st by them when I posted this), and I would be honored if any of you would like to mosey over there and vote for me. There's a link in my profile. _

**To the anon reviewer** (who I can't PM because, well, anon): thank you very much for the comments and critique. I understand what you are saying, but I have no intention of upping the rating on this fic, and there will still be no smut, because my feelings on the matter have not changed. As for the length... if I had known how long this story was going to end up when I started, I might have been afraid to. But I have confidence that I can finish this project, and I am glad to have started it. I hope people can enjoy it despite (or because of?) its length.


	33. A Storm Brewing

Though Winry had left after a few minutes, unable to put her life entirely on hold even for this, Al remained by his brother, their hands linked, Ed's fingers closed tightly around his as if he might vanish at any moment. The euphoria that had gripped him was slowly fading now that the first ecstatic moments had passed. Reality seeped slowly into his consciousness: Ed was blind and deaf, and while that was _so much better_ than being insane, he wasn't quite sure what to do now. He wanted to say something to soften the blow, to counter the tension he saw growing on his brother's face, but found no words.

What was he supposed to say? "It's not the end of the world"?

Every so often Ed let go of his hand to stroke up Al's arm, tugging idly at his clothes and petting his skin, straining his eyes to see, but always dropped his hand back to hold Al's.

Al felt like he was exploding with questions, _where were you what was that place in my dreams who is _he_, _but he hardly knew where to start. The barrier of sound and sight left only a tiny, awkward pinhole through which they could communicate, and just the thought of attempting complicated explanations like that depressed Al. They would have to find something simpler, and soon.

Ed seemed content to just be together, though as the minutes passed the joy was dropping gradually off his face. Every so often he shook his head, as if to clear it, or blinked his eyes rapidly, straining.

Finally Ed released his grip on Al's hand and touched his finger to the palm. _What is wrong with me_? _Why is it dark_?

"What?" Al stammered aloud, shocked. How could Ed not know what had happened? A rebound wasn't exactly the sort of thing you _missed_!

_I dont understand,_ he tapped back.

Ed looked annoyed. _I cant see._ _Cant hear. _His tapping was jittery with nerves, as if praying that the answer he feared wasn't true.

"Winry!" Al called, afraid of what his answer might mean. "Winry!" How could it not be Equivalent Exchange?

She threw open the door to the clinic, evidently having run. "What is it? What's wrong?"

"What's wrong with him?" Al demanded, barely keeping his voice from quivering. "He doesn't know!"

"But... _you're_ the alchemists." She walked in and sat down heavily next to Ed's bed.

_Answer me!_ Ed tapped frantically, but it barely registered on Al's consciousness, he was too focused on the problem at hand.

"He says he doesn't know what's wrong!" He was loath to admit lack of knowledge, but he had to make sure. "He wasn't like this after we tried to bring Mo-"

"Not at all." Winry shook her head in confusion, suddenly looking worried. "He was the one who told _us_ what was going on."

_What are you doing are you talking about me what is wrong answer me damn it!_

Ed would have to know the answer, because Al had no idea. _Blind. Deaf, _he wrote, feeling as if he were spelling out his brother's death sentence. _We not know why. What happened before?_

Ed stiffened, jerking his flesh hand away, covering his eyes with the strange prosthetic. He didn't answer, just sat there shaking for a long moment. Without warning he made a strangled sound and pressed both hands frantically to his eyes, poking and prodding at them, reaching for his ears and shaking his head in denial, as if by sheer force of will he could make them work again.

"Ed!" Winry cried, reaching out reflexively to keep him from hurting himself. But as soon as the outburst had started, it stopped, and Ed sat immobile, his posture strangely weak.

_Only fair,_ he tapped distractedly on the sheets by his side, staring off into the distance. _At least, Al, you are... _the tapping degenerated into a confused jumble, his hand shaking too badly for clarity.

_Brother_, Al tried to say, searching for some words to comfort him. _Its not-_

_Go away,_ Ed tapped suddenly, the words like a stab in Al's heart. _I want alone_.

Stricken, Al looked at Winry for help, but she looked equally shocked. Leave Ed _now_? It was ridiculous! No way he was going to have Ed deal with this by himself!

Seeming of a like mind, Winry reached for Ed's hand and tried to tap out something, but Ed ignored her. Open palmed and violent, he slammed his hand down on the bed again, repeating the sequence.

_GO AWAY_.

Nobody moved for a moment, and the only sounds were Ed's harsh breathing above the hum of medical machinery that could usually be heard in the clinic.

"Let's go." Winry broke the silence, her voice unsteady. It figured, Al thought furiously, that she would give up so quickly. Again.

"I'm not leaving him," Al snapped, glaring at her. In the past, this was where Winry's eyes would fill with guilt and she would look away, unwilling to challenge him. But now she wasn't looking away, glaring at him right back, and Al felt a twinge of uncertainty.

"If he could, he would have stormed off in a huff by now," Winry said tightly, "because Ed is too proud for his own good. But he can't. Are you going to deprive him of every last shred of dignity?"

Not waiting for an answer, She got up and left the clinic, decidedly not looking back. Al looked from her retreating back to his brother, who was still quaking, both hands fisted in the sheets, and hunched over so his bangs hid his face from view.

He didn't want to go. It wasn't _fair_ that after all this Ed wanted him to leave! There had to be some reason Ed was shutting down, something that would make him smile and-

Alfons. Ed didn't know Alfons was alive.

Remembering Ed's guilt, he knew without a doubt that it would calm him, though every part of Al railed at the thought. It wasn't right that his lookalike should cause Ed such pain, that the knowledge Alfons was still alive would cause Ed such great happiness. Who _was_ he, to have such a profound effect on his brother? But it wasn't about him, and it wasn't about Alfons, it was about doing whatever it took to make Ed happy.

Before he could lose his nerve, Al grabbed Ed's hand and tapped, _dont be sad. He is alive._

Now Ed would smile, right? He couldn't breathe with the tension.

Ed just looked sort of confused, though, and Al elaborated, wishing that Ed could just understand on his own and not force him to dwell on it. _The one you came with._

And there it was, that was the expression Al was looking for. Disbelieving but full of wonder, the realization that things had _worked. _Al hadn't been enough to make Ed accept what was going on, but Alfons was. Ed's breath caught in his throat, his eyes widened, and for just a moment he sat completely frozen – and then he was grabbing at Al's hand, frantically tapping, _where is he is he ok take me to him._

_Not awake yet_, Al said, stalling. Wasn't knowing he was alive enough? Couldn't Ed talk to _him_ now, just a bit...?

_Not awake_? Just like that, Ed looked terrified again. Al pushed his disappointment into the farthest corner of his mind that he could, to mull over in private.

_Winry keeping him on drugs. Could hurt himself. Stitches in chest._

_But ok_? Ed asked anxiously, his finger quaking against Al's hand. _Can see him?_

No, Ed couldn't see him. Maybe Ed might never be able to actually see him again. But Al wouldn't say that.

_Come_, he tapped, thankful it was so easy to hide his emotions like this. Ed wouldn't see the devastated expression on his face, wouldn't know how much Al _didn't want_ to be doing this right now. Heart somewhere in his feet, Al reached out with both hands to catch Ed's eager ones, and helped him to his feet. Walking across the room was awkward – Ed slid his feet along the floor, afraid of losing his balance, and kept a death grip on Al's hands. Nothing but determination was in his face, replacing the passive misery from earlier.

Alfons had done this, galvanized Ed into movement and life. Alfons, not Al. He swallowed hard and tried not to think of how satisfying punching his doppelganger in the face might be.

They reached the bed, and Al tugged Ed's hands over until he felt the mattress, almost thankful to finally be letting go. Excited, Ed ran his flesh hand up Alfons' arm, over his shoulder and to his face, where he paused, tracing his features in a smooth, practiced motion. It was nothing like the clumsiness Al remembered from when Ed had touched him.

Ed looked suddenly unfamiliar, and Al took a step away from him, then another. Was _this_ really his brother? His Ed was blunt and rough around the edges, not... since when was Ed the kind of person who even _knew_ how to stroke somebody's hair out of their face, and look so darn _happy _while doing it? Who was this man, anyway, who pressed gentle fingers to Alfons' throat and smiled at the flutter of his heartbeat, peaceful in a way Al hadn't seen him since before Mom died?

Al backed away slowly until his back hit the wall. He wanted desperately to tear his eyes away from his brother, who was positively _fawning_ over Alfons, and yet couldn't. How could he possibly look away, when it had taken so many years of work for him to reach this moment – and was now spending it watching his brother making much of somebody _else_.

Weak at the knees, Al slid down until he was sitting on the cool floor, and pulled his legs to his chest. It was as if Ed hadn't even come back at all, he thought spitefully. Without his sight and hearing, Ed was locked in another world, and right now Alfons was the only one in there with him. Anybody out of the reach of Ed's hands might as well not be there at all.

Well, fine, Al thought angrily, and didn't move from his position when Ed let Alfons' hand go with a last pat, and reached out with his left hand to flail at the air. It took him a few moments to realize that Al wasn't in the vicinity, and concern wrote itself across Ed's face.

Let Alfons help him, he thought coldly, if that was who Ed liked better. Ed made some half-hearted sounds that with some imagination might have sounded a bit like "Al", but that didn't produce any results either.

Finally Ed gave up, and hesitantly pushed himself to his feet. He tottered forward slowly, hands outstretched to try and keep himself from crashing into anything, an expression of deep concentration on his face. Watching Ed from the side was even worse than helping him, because it drove home how completely helpless he was. Ed could barely _walk_, how would he ever function on his own?

Of course, he knew intellectually that plenty of blind people lived just fine, but knowing wasn't the same as watching Ed struggle across the floor (walking in the wrong direction, too), and realizing that he would probably never be able to spar with him again, either.

Just then he saw the stool directly in Ed's path, and cried out a reflexive warning before remembering that _Ed couldn't hear him_ – then he jumped up to intercept him, because no matter how pissed off he was he would _never_ want Ed hurt -

But he was too slow, and Ed stumbled right over it, his prosthetic giving way under him and sending him to the floor in a heap.

"Brother!" He knelt at his side and reached out to steady him. Ed let out a strangled shout of fury, and smashed his flesh fist into the floor in frustration.

_You ok?_

Ed sat there panting for a second, then ran his hands along the floor until he found the offending piece of furniture, and shoved it over in annoyance. Al wanted to scold him (what if there had been medical supplies on it?) but couldn't bring himself to.

_Sorry, Winry called me,_ Al lied, and it was so _easy_ to lie to his brother when he couldn't rely on cues like tone of voice or facial expression.

_Is ok,_ Ed said, making an effort to wipe the frustration off his face. Just for Al. He accepted Al's helping hand with only the tiniest reluctance, allowing Al to help him to his feet. Ed didn't hesitate in allowing Al to guide him, and his complete trust was all the worse because Al knew he didn't deserve it. His brother hadn't even _considered_ being suspicious of Al's disappearance. If Ed ever discovered what Al had done to him... he shuddered to think of what it would do to his brother.

His hands tightened reflexively around Ed. He _would_ be worthy of Ed's trust, and show him that he didn't need Alfons at all.

So lost in his thoughts was he that he almost didn't notice they reached Ed's bed until they practically crashed into it. Upon feeling the frame against his thighs Ed frowned and turned to Al, tapping irritably. _Dont want to be in bed_.

If Ed didn't want to be in bed he wouldn't force him, though Al wasn't quite sure what else to do with him. Some small part of him wondered why it mattered at all, if Ed couldn't see and hear anyway, but if that was what Ed wanted he wouldn't argue.

His hesitation had disturbed Ed, though, who tapped furiously, _not a fucking invalid!_ and that made Al laugh a bit, that Ed would spend all the time to code out curses.

_Of course not_, he said placatingly, and tugged Ed in the opposite direction, away from the bed. _Want to sit in kitchen?_

Ed nodded, so they set off across the floor in the other direction, Al suppressing a bit of annoyance that Ed hadn't just said he wanted out in the first place. Alfons' bed was closer to the door, it would have saved them a slow walk across the room. Slowly but surely, though, they were moving, and Al wondered if he was imagining it or not, but it seemed to him that Ed was walking with just a bit more confidence now.

There, the door was right in front of him – Al reached out with some relief to pull it open, but before he could touch the door it slid open on its own, making him jump. Winry and Pinako stood on the other side, and Al remembered suddenly that Granny hadn't yet rescinded her order to stay away from Ed.

Other things seemed to be higher on her agenda, though, because all she said was "Good, he's up. Help him to a seat, we need to run some tests."

Al couldn't help it; he groaned, and Winry gave him a disappointed look.

_Whats going on_? Ed asked frantically.

Winry touched his hand and explained they needed to run a few more tests, they were trying to figure out what exactly was wrong with him. Ed sulked, but allowed Al to lead him painstakingly back across the floor. He was getting real tired of the clinic, though.

"What's there to figure out?" Al asked Granny, just a bit sullenly.

She didn't answer, only seated Ed down and started running her hands over his face carefully, prodding around his eyes and ears.

"Tell him to tell me if anything hurts," she told Winry, who relayed it to Ed. He shook his head, and answered, _nothing hurts._

"Hmph." It was hard to tell if Granny was pleased or not. Next she checked his eyes, shining a light into them and clucking over what she saw, and looked into his ears.

"No external damage," she finally said, looking at Al and Winry. "His eyes and ears seem to be working perfectly normally."

"That means it's definitely..." Winry trailed off, her voice tight.

"What? What is it?" Al demanded.

"Brain damage," Granny answered grimly.

"You mean... he gave parts of his _brain_ in Equivalent Exchange?" His voice cracked embarrassingly, incapable of reflecting his horror. There was absolutely no doubt in his mind; he would never be able to fix Ed if the problem was his brain. Tampering with his brain would likely do more harm than good.

But both Winry and Granny were shaking their heads, still looking grim.

"Be sensible, Al," Granny said. "If he had given parts of his brain, I have no doubt he would have been bleeding into his brain all this time, and he would have been long dead."

"So what's _wrong_ with him?" Al exploded, eyes darting between the two of them, and he suddenly noticed a sharp tugging on his sleeve. It was Ed, who was growling in frustration at being ignored, trying to get his attention.

"His brain is damaged," Winry said weakly, looking at Ed with an impossibly sad expression. "We don't know why or how."

"But he might," Granny said, nodding at Ed. "Ask him about where he's been, what could have caused this. If we determine the cause, we might..." She stopped abruptly, looking thoughtful. Hope kindled in Al's chest.

"It might be reversible?" This wasn't the end? Ed could still return to normal and that meant that things _would_ be okay-!

"It's too early to know," Granny said, her voice leaving no room for hope. "Now why don't you stop ignoring your poor brother and see what information you can get from him."

Al turned to Ed, who was practically frothing at the mouth by now, and tapped out a quick explanation. The play of expressions on Ed's face was fascinating to behold: annoyance morphed to curiosity, guarded hope, then sudden, swift desolation.

_Where were you?_ Al asked. _Do you know what happened to cause this?_

_But Alfons!_ Ed tapped back agitatedly. _Will Alfons also be like this?_

Of course Ed would put Alfons before himself, more worried about what _he_ was going through than trying to fix his own very real problem.

_We dont know until we know why you are,_ Al answered, thankful his annoyance wouldn't translate. It wasn't fair to Ed, but _damn_, he wished Ed would think a little about what was fair to _him_.

Ed didn't move for a long moment, chewing nervously on his lip. Al watched the movement of his teeth, and wondered when he had picked up this particular habit; he didn't remember it from Before.

_I was on other side of Gate,_ Ed began slowly. _Worked with Alfons to come home. Way back through...._ He trailed off, and frowned. Al could practically see the cogs working in his head, and wondered how much Ed was actively hiding from him, and how much was omitted because communication was so darn cumbersome.

_It was... noise, light... like world was breaking. _Ed struggled with the words, and Al frankly had no clue what he was talking about. Then, suddenly, understanding dawned on his brother's face, and he tapped quickly, _there was somebody, an alchemist! They hurt me, was experiment? Maybe they-_

Al couldn't focus anymore, heart leaping into his throat. How he had hoped Ed might have forgotten-! Looking up he found Winry's suddenly cold eyes on him. She could read Morris code.

He could practically feel the challenge she presented him with – was he going to tell? How would he answer his brother?

_You were here the whole time_, he tapped, mouth dry. Surely this was enough. Now Ed would realize that it had been him, because he was the only alchemist around.

_Here?_ Ed was confused. _Not... captive_?

_No._ _You were here. _He wouldn't lie. He wouldn't. Especially not with Winry watching him like a hawk.

_But_. Ed paused, tilted his head, a deep frown on his face. _Who here could... I suppose... just imagination... not real... no alchemist tort-_ He cut off the word with a shudder and dropped his hand, then forced a confused sort of smile onto his face.

No way. No bloody way. What kind of ridiculous conclusion was that? Didn't Ed see the _obvious_, sitting right there in front of his face? How could he assume such an experience was his _imagination_, how could he be so- so- _trusting_?

What was he supposed to say? That he still remembered his brother's terrified cries echoing inside his mind, that he still felt a bizarre rush of unnatural affection when he thought of Alfons? He was acutely aware of Winry's eyes on him, offering no solution, and no comfort. _You made your bed, now lie in it_, her eyes seemed to say.

He loved Ed. He loved his brother, and believed in him and trusted him, and he was deathly afraid of what admitting his guilt could do to their bond. He didn't think Ed would _blame_ him, no, but maybe he'd be just a bit more wary, just a bit less trusting, and wonder and wonder what Al had seen inside his mind, what Al thought of the person he had found in there....

He hesitated and hedged and a few minutes passed, then a few more, and it became quite clear that Ed _wasn't_ going to ask, and that there was not even the tiniest niggling suspicion in his mind.

_So what does the hag say?_ Ed asked, as if the entire thing was forgotten. The chance was gone just like that, and Ed might never ask him again.

From the corner of his eye he could see Winry shaking her head. But it wasn't like he could do anything else, he told himself, even as he related to Granny Ed's words about "noise, light, and the world breaking", whatever that meant.

Neither Granny nor Winry could shed any light on the issue, nor hypothesize whether or not Ed might recover. Al was left with nebulous hope, and raging guilt over what he hadn't had the guts to own up to.

Winry refused to let it go, though. The moment Granny was out of earshot, she turned to Al, her expression grim. Al gulped.

"You lied to him," she snapped. The silent form of Ed next to them was distracting, and Al couldn't quash the irrational fear that he would somehow hear them.

"I didn't mean to hurt him." Al couldn't meet her eyes. But this much was true. It had been a mistake.

"He deserves to know the truth!" she said. "I saw what he said, he thinks he was _tortured_. How can you let him live like that?"

"He'll know," Al whispered, mind working frantically to come up with an excuse that wouldn't give away what he had actually done. "He knows alchemy, he'll know what I did was dangerous! There's nothing he can do about it right now, but he'll worry anyway. Please, Winry, he has enough bothering him now."

Winry knew nothing of alchemy, maybe, just maybe it would be enough.... She was wavering, he could see that, and added in a small voice, "He knows he's safe now, that's what's important."

"You'll have to tell him at some point, you know," she said, and left it at that.

_---------------_

All they could do was wait, and hope. Maybe Ed's senses would return to him, maybe it would all go away and remain nothing more than a bad memory. But maybe it wouldn't, and so Ed had to learn to walk and eat and do all the things people took for granted. He was impossibly slow, endlessly awkward. At Ed's insistence Winry fixed up his ports (which were in relatively decent condition, surprisingly), and outfitted him with new automail, the limbs she had worked on in secret while waiting for his return. It was immediately evident that Ed wasn't used to the weight, as he staggered around grimly, trying to keep from crashing into walls, and hitting things with his false limbs. The only comfort was that Ed's automail leg was far more stable than the prosthetic, which Winry kept to study, curious about its construction.

The day revolved around Ed: who would help him eat, who would help him reacquaint himself with the house, who would remind him where the bathroom was and make sure he didn't slip and hurt himself, who would keep him entertained. They did their best to keep him happy and occupied, but sometimes it seemed like nothing at all could bring a smile to his face. The best they could achieve was a momentary lightening of expression.

Or that was what Al thought, until he caught Ed once by Alfons' bedside, relaxed and happy. All their efforts didn't manage to bring Ed the relief the mere presence of one unconscious man could, and Al couldn't stand it. He wasn't even _awake_, how did this make sense?

The last straw was when they discovered that Ed could no longer do alchemy. He clapped his hands together, again and again, unable to create even a spark. The simplest arrays Al drew him didn't even flicker on contact with his fingers, arrays that even _Rose_ could get a small reaction out of if she really tried.

Of course, Al knew what it was. When alchemists overstepped their boundaries, they ended up with either a rebound or burnout. The skilled alchemists could hold themselves on the brink, stretch their skills to the max and survive, but whether they would ever have the ability to perform alchemy again was luck of the draw.

Al sat next to his despondent brother, and it was a sign of how badly Ed was hurting that he didn't even flinch away when Al put a comforting hand on his shoulder. No longer the Fullmetal Alchemist, Al thought privately, an ache in his heart. He was so glad he hadn't told Mustang anything in the two days since Ed had woken up, because Ed would surely react badly to having everybody know how helpless he was.

_Its ok,_ Ed tapped listlessly. _Had no alchemy for 4 years. No matter. _And that was all Ed was willing to say on the matter, refusing to speak about all the things he could no longer do, instead fighting for a modicum of independence. He spoke little, sitting silent for hours on end, and what he thought about was anybody's guess.

Dinner, the only meal they all ate together, was a supremely uncomfortable affair. Ed was wretched and self-conscious, trying his best to eat without making a mess or spilling anything, nibbling slowly and painstakingly at his food, a far cry from how he used to practically inhale it. Reattaching the automail brought about an increase in his appetite, but not enough to keep the women from clucking over him and looking at each other worriedly.

And even when they could tear their eyes away from Ed, what were they supposed to talk about? It was almost creepy sitting at the table with him, realizing that he could hear nothing they said. Should they even try and transcribe everything for him? What was the point, since by the time one sentence would be completed, the conversation would be far away already? So they mostly sat in silence, watching Ed push his food from one side of his plate to the other, as the expression on his face grew increasingly bleak.

Finally he shoved his chair back and stood up, knocking it over with a clatter, and tottered off without a word. Everybody watched him go, and then almost guiltily started up a conversation. Al hated that they felt uncomfortable around Ed, though he felt the same, and stayed silent.

"You don't have to hang around," Winry said to Rose. "You have people waiting for you in Lior."

"I wouldn't leave you like this," she answered decidedly. "All of you are so distracted, you'd probably be out of clean clothes in a week if I left. And with Ed... you need more help than ever, and you still have Alfons to take care of."

Al shifted uncomfortably at her use of the name. Hearing _his_ name being used for his double was disconcerting. Vindictively, he wished Ed had never told them what his name was, or any of the stories about how they had spent the last three years together.

"Rose, if you don't go back to Lior now, I don't know when you'll be able to." Winry's voice was soft and serious. "There's talk around town, a blizzard is supposed to be blowing in, which could block the trains. And there's trouble up north, I heard that they closed the rails to New Optain."

"What?" Al blurted, caught completely by surprise. True, he hadn't listened to the news for a while, but he had no idea the situation was so dire. Winry shot him a withering glance.

"He's been preoccupied." Rose came to his defense, but sounded a bit distracted. "No, I'm going to stay. There's fighting every other week anyway, whatever's going on this time will die down soon enough. I came to help you with Grandma, I'm not going to leave, especially with all that's happened."

Silence descended once more, as they were once again reminded of Granny's empty spot. She had been sleeping when dinner was announced as ready, and nobody had the heart to wake her. Sleep was often far from her, these days.

Winry cleared her throat, and changed the subject. "I don't know why we even bothered voting for that silly parliament, it's not like they're _doing_ anything." Complaining about politics was always safe, an easy target for frayed tempers.

"Anything is better than King Bradley," Rose said, with the weary air of having said the words many times before. The conversation sounded well-rehearsed.

"A parliament _would_ be better, if they actually had any power!" Winry clapped a hand down on the table. "They just sit there in Central like ninnies and wring their hands and make proclamations."

"I'm sure they're doing their best," though Rose didn't sound quite sure, "but without much of an army they can't really change anything. The old military still controls too much."

Al would have rolled his eyes and tuned them out, the way he normally did when talk turned to politics, but their words made him think of General Mustang again. Mustang's warnings about possible danger to Ed had to be from the old military, he thought, because Parliament was very decidedly supportive of Ed, practically making him the poster boy-cum-martyr for the overthrow of the old, corrupt regime.

He needed to think about that. Something niggled at the back of his mind, but he knew from experience that he couldn't force it. Better go check on Ed. He slipped away, leaving Rose and Winry still arguing over whether or not the parliament was in any position to do anything meaningful, Cain looking between them in a sort of bewilderment.

Cain didn't seem to know what to make of Ed, it was so difficult for the boy to understand that Ed couldn't see or hear him, much less play with him. For the most part he did his best to keep Cain away from Ed, because he seemed to make Ed nervous. Then again, pretty much _everything_ made his brother nervous, these days.

Ed hadn't gone far, this time. Al found him sitting on the sofa in the living room, completely immobile, slumped against the sofa back, his face blank. Ed got like this, sometimes, and there was something about it that bothered Al. It was beyond just zoning out or being lost in thought, because snapping him out of it was more difficult than it should be.

The sofa shifting beneath him should have alerted Ed to his presence, but his brother didn't react, hardly blinked. When Al touched his hand he didn't move either, so Al jiggled his shoulder a bit – and there, Ed blinked and started, as if he had just woken up.

_Are you ok,_ Al asked, and didn't miss the flash of – he didn't know _what_ emotion it was, he couldn't read his brother the way he should be able to, but something was bothering him.

Ed sighed and didn't answer. Ed, who had always had enough opinions for five people and wanted to make sure everybody around him heard every single one, couldn't be bothered to speak to Al.

_Brother,_ Al quavered, unable to take it any longer, _please talk to me. You dont have to talk to anybody else if you dont want, but please tell me what youre thinking. Its like youre not even here!_

It was difficult to know, sometimes, whether or not Ed was listening, but Al saw distress intensifying on his face with every word.

_Sorry_, Ed said, and didn't seem inclined to speak any more. What was Al supposed to do? He had tried everything, and – but Ed was tapping again.

_Takes so long,_ Ed said hesitantly. _You dont have better things to do_?

_Of course not!_ Al tapped, so quickly he nearly garbled the words. To think that Ed had stayed silent for fear of being a burden-!

_If you want, I will tell you a story_, Ed tapped, staring off into space with a strange, nostalgic look, and Al's heart jumped in excited anticipation. _In the other world, Alfons and I were building the array to take us back here. We lived in a city called Boston, and one day Michaels – thats our sponsor – suddenly showed up and wanted to know what we were doing..._

As he tapped, Ed became more and more animated, to the point where sometimes Al couldn't quite follow the story. But he understood the gist of it, and watched as his brother's face lit up as he recalled their adventures in the other world. Such strange adventures! Al didn't understand Ed's excitement at telling a story of how he and Alfons had solved impossible theorems all over a nameless professor's board and sat snickering to each other while everybody wondered who had done it. Ed had done so many amazing and exciting things in his life, and yet this was what he had to tell?

_That world sounds a bit boring_, Al confessed at some point, thinking of what it must be like to have no alchemy, go to school every day, beholden to a thousand and one different things at once.

_Boring?_ Ed paused, then laughed. _Never boring! It was awful at first, but then... Oh, you have to hear about that time with Alfons and the hose! You should have seen his face-!_

The torrent of words slowed, and Ed was still, looking suddenly bereft. _I hope he wakes up soon_, he said.

_I'm sure he will_, Al tapped, his first words in a while. The way Ed had been talking, it was like he didn't even need a response, barring the occasional "wow" and "oh really?". It was Alfons this and Alfons that and Alfons said and Alfons did, and hadn't Ed done _anything_ on his own?

Keeping hold of his anger was impossible, though, because right now these memories were all Ed had. Unless a miracle happened, Ed wouldn't be having any new adventures, of any sort. Al thought of his brother, stuck reliving his past glories, and felt a lump in his throat. He cast around for something to say to snap Ed out of the depression rapidly overtaking him once again, but could think of nothing.

The moment was lost, and Ed sank back into himself.

"Al?" Winry's voice came. Looking up, Al saw with some surprise that the sun was low in the sky. Heavy clouds were coming in from the north, making the evening even darker.

_Winry needs me_, Al tapped reluctantly, wondering where the time had gone. They really _had_ to find a more convenient way to communicate.

Ed immediately made shooing motions with his hand, and shot him a grin. Al hesitated, but finally left, because he had no other choice. There were chores to be done.

He was beginning to hate that grin, though. How practiced it was, how easily Ed tossed it about. He didn't even need to ask when that fake grin had become second nature to his brother.

_---------_

Nobody wanted Ed sleeping alone, in case he needed to get up in the middle of the night. Al immediately offered to share a room with him – even a bed, it would be just like old times! - but Ed had been less than enthusiastic about the idea.

_No bed sharing_, he tapped, leaving no room for argument. But he didn't resist to the idea of sharing a room. Not that he really _could_, Al thought privately.

So nights were dealt with; Al would be with him to make sure he wasn't tormented by nightmares, and to wake him up in the morning and remind him that there was still a greater world out there that he was part of. This was only sort of successful.

On the fifth day, tired of watching Ed sit around dejectedly, Winry took it upon herself to find him something to do. Taking his hand she tugged him into the workshop, watching carefully to make sure he didn't trip over anything on the way.

She sat him down on a bench in front of the worktable, a large tub of screws in front of him.

_Could you sort these for me?_ she asked, and Al, who had followed them, made a sound of protest. Winry ignored him, explaining to Ed that she wanted all the size ones in the right hand bowl, and how to divide them according to shape.

"This is ridiculous!" Al spluttered, gesturing wildly. "How is this any help, making him do such a stupid job?" He couldn't give voice to his real problem, that watching his older brother sit and sort screws because he could do nothing else was torture.

"It does need to get done," Winry said heavily, not looking at him. She knew it was stupid, too.

Movement from the table caught his attention. While they had been arguing, Ed had gone to work, picking each screw out of the tub, running his flesh fingers over it, and placing it where Winry had told him to. He didn't complain, just methodically sorted the screws, face blank.

"There has to be something better." Al couldn't tear his eyes away. What had _happened_ to him? Ed was supposed to be indomitable, unbeatable.

"I need to work," Winry said, sitting down on her own workbench. "And you're bothering me. Either be useful, or go away." She refused to meet his eyes and was silent. The only sound was the arrhythmic clinking of screws together.

Fine. If Winry was going to be like that.... He spun on his heel and stormed out. Almost immediately, Rose grabbed him and sent him to run errands in preparation for the upcoming blizzard. He was sent to chop wood in case the gas ran out, pick up flour and other staples, and generally waste most of the day trudging about in the cold instead of staying by Ed's side where he belonged.

When he finally managed to shake Rose and evade Cain who was bored and wanted to play, he ran back into the workshop. Winry was nowhere to be seen, but Ed sat in almost the same place Al had left him that morning. Now he seemed less productive, though. He ran his fingers through the piled screws, occasionally picking up some of them and allowing them to cascade from his hand. Again and again.... Was this some sort of replacement to his sitting and staring at nothing? Al wasn't sure it was an improvement.

He came closer, and Ed started just a bit, nervous. Could his brother ever honestly be _happy_, stuck doing shlock jobs? Ed was an alchemist, but what kind of alchemist couldn't do alchemy? And since he couldn't read, couldn't speak, couldn't hear... what kind of researcher could Ed possibly be?

Money wouldn't be a problem, he and Winry would take care of Ed, and he would be happy to do it, he really would, but....

Ed dropped another screw with a little _plink_, and made a face. Suddenly, out of nowhere, he slammed his automail down on the table with a loud crash, making the entire table shake.

"Brother!" Al practically flew to his side. Of course Ed was frustrated, it was no wonder, _anybody_ who had just spent a day sorting screws would be-

"Al," Ed said.

Al froze, afraid to move, afraid to breathe. It couldn't be.

Another frown crossed Ed's face, and he spoke again. "Al, ca' ya hear me?" His voice was sort of garbled, but the words were clear enough.

"Yes," Al blurted, unsure whether he needed to tap it out or not. But Ed heard him – _heard him!_ - and suddenly grinned, this time a real, honest one.

"What happened? How can this be?" The words tumbled over themselves to reach Ed, even though he himself was still rooted to the spot.

The tension drained out of Ed suddenly, and he sagged against the table, shaking with a sort of weird laughter. "Wassa wors' week of my life," he gasped, and Al suddenly realized how alien he sounded. His voice had changed in the years Al had missed; it was smoother, deeper, and sounded just a bit like a stranger's.

"Fuckin' si' effec'," Ed wheezed. "I knew we had misse' the Gate. Fuck it all."

"It's temporary?" Al asked, hardly daring to believe it. He took a step forward, grabbed his brother by the shoulders, nearly shaking him. "It's all going to come back? Your sight, your alchemy?"

What kind of side effect was Ed talking about? He had _never _heard of an alchemist paying a price that wasn't Equivalent Exchange, and those prices, once paid, were hardly ever returned.

Ed flashed another smile, this one sort of fake (Al was getting better at reading him, he thought with a thrill), and only said, "I hope so."

That hope was enough for Al, whose doubts disappeared at once and he hugged Ed enthusiastically. Ed wrapped his flesh arm around him, and pressed his forehead into Al's shoulder.

"You sound just like I remember," he said, and Al felt a twinge of worry. Hiding his condition had been simple when Ed couldn't see and hear, but now his brother was truly back, and questions would arise.

Winry, who it turned out had just gone to take a bathroom break, came in only a few moments later. Ed heard her footsteps and turned, unconsciously focusing his eyes in her direction.

"Wi'ry?" he wondered, and she paused, looking from him to Al in confusion. Al nodded encouragingly.

"Ed?" she finally said, "you can hear me?"

"Yeah!"

His words seemed to open the floodgates. "That's wonderful!" she gushed, rushing over to sit next to him. "Oh, Ed, I thought you would never..." her voice cracked, and she brushed a hand across her eyes.

"Shi', Wi'ry, don' cry..." Ed fluttered his hands helplessly, looking suddenly panicked. His expression made Al want to laugh hysterically, but he resisted the urge.

"I'm not crying, you stupid lunk," she sniffled.

Ed smirked – actually smirked! Al had heard so much about that smirk – and said, "Ya sure soun' like I'."

Winry just shook her head, then rushed on, "Is your sight also returning?"

The smile on Ed's face wilted a bit, and he shook his head. "Bu' maybe i' will," he added, trying to sound cheerful.

Al and Winry exchanged a glance, and words such as "_it's okay, at least you can hear!_" were swallowed, unsaid. Who were they to tell Ed that he could live without his sight?

But Al couldn't resist blurting eagerly, "And your alchemy? Is that back, too?"

Guarded hope on his face, Ed clapped his hands together, but nothing happened. Hope died. "No," he said miserably, his mood teetering on the verge of plummeting once more.

Winry bit her lip, and shook her head pointedly at Al. They needed to devote their efforts to keeping Ed happy.

"It stands to reason that all the damage is from the same source," she said. "If you can hear and speak, that means the damage is reversible." She was smiling again, and reached out to take his hand eagerly. "Come on, Ed, let's show everybody!"

Her enthusiasm was infectious, slowly bringing a smile back to Ed's face as she and Al dragged Ed to talk to Rose and Granny, even Cain.

Once the initial excitement was over, Ed immediately began to pepper them with questions about Alfons – whose name, it turned out, was pronounced with a slight variation from Al's. What was wrong with him, how many stitches did he have, was it going to scar, would he be okay, did the bullet wound affect the worms in his lungs in any way and vice versa?

"_Worms_?" Rose asked, horrified.

"Ya," Ed said, sounding entirely too nonchalant. Al had a suspicion he found their horror amusing. "He' got parago'mi'a... parag'ni'mis... fuck. He' go' lung fluke'."

Granny seemed to know what it was, though she said she had never encountered it in humans before. Ed assured them that it wasn't contagious, and wasn't fatal, and really, shouldn't have much effect on anything. All the while he seemed to be laughing at some private joke, though what could be funny about worms in the lungs was beyond Al.

The more Ed talked, the more his speech settled. He was still slurring, but it was obviously starting to fade.

"When wi' A'fons wake up?" he kept asking, sitting in a corner of Winry's workshop and pestering her incessantly.

"I suppose we can take him off the drugs," she mused. "He's fairly healed, and if there's no reason he won't be able to hear, he also shouldn't panic." She looked at Ed, smiled at his eagerness. "Tomorrow, I guess."

Al saw his brother's joy, and felt his heart sink.

------------------

Roy sat silently at his desk, hands clasped before him on top of a pile of paperwork, deep in thought. Far more important than dull administration was the ever-present undercurrent of tension which he knew would soon come to a boil.

The door to his office swung open with a soft squeak, then shut again, to admit Riza. For a change, she seemed disinclined to chide him about the paperwork. With the current state of the government, bureaucracy was ultimately meaningless.

"I saw Luckner today," Roy said, trying to keep the loathing out of his voice. On a good day, being civil to the Earthquake Alchemist was an effort. In times like this it was damn near impossible.

"I see Major Luckner around General Bowring's offices quite often," Riza answered, unruffled.

"He was happy today." Roy stood up and started pacing. "Smug. The bastard was smug, and I don't know that they have anything to be smug about."

Bowring and his friends were pretty much neutralized as far as a power base was concerned as long as Rahz's shenanigans in New Optain continued to draw attention. And Rahz would have no reason to ally with them, unless....

"There's fighting in East City," Riza tossed out, waiting for him to reply. With Breda poking around up north, they had to keep up with intelligence on their home ground on their own. How he missed Hughes.

"Anderson hasn't taken the city the past two times he attacked, there's no reason he should now, and a campaign in this weather is ridiculous. But they've closed the rails to New Optain."

"And Ashfar," Riza added, naming a city south of East City, and turned to look at the map on his wall. Multi-colored pins sketched a grim picture, but Roy's eyes were drawn to the rails, tracing a jagged path downward from New Optain to their last destination on that line.

Resembool.

Al should have told him if something happened. His network in the East was falling apart – but then, the entirety of the east seemed to be falling apart these days. With rails and communications down, their only hope was-

"A blizzard should be hitting any day now," Riza said quietly.

"Good."

----------------------

It was dark, and it hurt. Those were the two constants of his existence. Consumption ate a burning hole in his chest, the pain of which grew more intense as the clouds slowly fled his mind. But no, there was something wrong with that....

He drifted, and the pain was that of worms, eating him from inside out. Nausea choked him, and he fought for a moment until his mind dulled again.

Blood. He remembered blood floating, and now he could smell it, but no, it was the acrid scent of antiseptic. He took a breath. Pain lanced through him, and he remembered Edward holding him. His heart twisted because Edward was gone – or was he gone? He wasn't quite clear on that right now.

He woke, and this time he was pretty sure he was awake, though his mind was fuzzy. It was dark around him, and his chest hurt, and he rather thought he was supposed to be _dead_, actually, but this wasn't Heaven. He hoped. Not that Hell would be preferable, but this didn't seem like Hell either.

A voice was calling him from far away, a terribly familiar voice that made him want to answer, just so he could hear it again.

"Alfons, are you awake? Talk to me, Alfons!"

The voice was louder now, recognition tickling in his mind but not quite there yet. But that voice wouldn't leave him alone, so he finally coughed a bit and tried to answer.

_"Was_?" he managed, in German, and now he heard more exclamations around him.

"It's me, it's Edward," now the voice was talking German, and it _did_ sort of sound like Edward, only... something was different.

"Alfons..."

A hand snaked its way into his and he shifted, suddenly aware of cool sheets against his skin, and the whirr of machinery in the background.

It couldn't be Edward, this was wrong. Something was wrong. He frowned, trying to pinpoint it.

"Are you okay?"

Now that the tone was more worried, he realized something. It hadn't sounded like Edward because the voice had been so _happy_, not like his Edward.

He liked the happy voice, though. He wanted to see a happy Edward, and strained to open his eyes, but no matter what all he saw was black.

"Alfons!"

The hand was wrong, though. Warm against his palm, it didn't feel like Edward's hand. Edward didn't even _have_ a left hand, who did they think they were fooling?

No, wait, something about flipping....

He remembered that Edward was trying to talk to him, and swallowed around his dry throat.

"Yes," he said, and the strange hand squeezed his. He strained to see through the inky blackness, again, but couldn't. He wanted to see what a flipped Edward looked like, wanted to touch him and -

Edward made a glad sound, and suddenly was touching him quite a bit more than was smart, because hugging him when his chest was _burning up oh god _was not a good idea.

Other voices, speaking English, rose to admonish Edward to be careful, and the arms around his chest loosened their vice-like grip.

"Where are we?" he asked. His voice came to his ears just a bit garbled and clumsy.

"We're home!" Edward said, and the joy was back in his voice. "We made it, Alfons, and Winry says you're going to be fine!"

They made it. He could feel a smile on his own face, and wished he could kiss Edward. Shame about all the people around.

"Your brother?" Edward's brother had to be fine, otherwise Ed wouldn't sound so happy, but he had to make sure.

"He's fine." Edward's voice choked up a bit. "You'll see, Alfons, everything's going to be amazing now!"

They had made it. Gone through the fourth dimension and come out safely on the other side, in another world. Edward had told him the truth all along, and Edward had brought him here, where....

"I thought it would be lighter," he mused.

Edward laughed sheepishly, and his image flashed through Alfons' mind's eye: Edward's lips would be curled up, showing his teeth, eyes scrunched nearly shut with the eyebrows pulled together, nose wrinkled, maybe just the tiniest flush on his cheeks.

"About that," Edward said, "I can explain...."

* * *

_**A/N**: I know, I know, I suck. I had the worst writer's block, which kind people like Yixsh and Marju and Militsa and Darkblysse and Rohanna helped me through, and of course, thanks to Cryo for not giving up on me. Seriously, the first draft of this chapter was absolute crap. It was awful. But I think I'm over the hurdle, and I'm REALLY looking forward to the next chapters! And I'm past my exams. I hope you enjoyed it anyway (even though I'm not awfully fond of this chapter), and haven't grown sick of my shenanigans._


	34. Black and White

_omg, I just have to say I can't believe this story passed 400 comments! I really love you all. To tell the truth, whenever I feel down, or am lacking inspiration, I always look over your comments to give myself that extra push to keep writing (or just to cheer myself up a bit). Thank you all so much for reading and commenting!_

_A few words about Al: I know he's an ass right now, but I hope you'll bear with me, and give him a chance to redeem himself before you write him off.  
Also, I really will do my best to keep to once-a-month updates. Even when it seems like a long time has passed, be assured that I will work as hard as I can to keep on updating (semi) regularly, and that I am bound and determined to complete this story.  
Thanks to my usual betas: Cryo, Naatz, and Yixsh, who helped make this chapter what it is._

* * *

Getting rid of his tail had been more annoying than Roy had expected, but judging from the faces of Riza and the youngster with the radio, there had been no real need to rush.

"What's the holdup?" he inquired, resisting the urge to tack on a '_now_' at the end. Their faces did not bode well.

"I still can't raise Colonel Bowers," the young Lieutenant said. His normally pale skin was whiter than usual, making his freckles stand out.

Roy turned to Riza grimly. "I thought you said this Stoker was a communications whiz," he said, motioning with his thumb.

"You have to be more than a whiz to get through a blizzard," Stoker said hotly, undeterred. "The only way you'll be getting through to Resembool is on foot."

Roy was silent, then came to a quick decision. "Caro. He's in Cornerstone, and he owes me a favor. Tell him to get through to Bowring, and get troops to Resembool, I don't care how." He hadn't expected Bowers and whoever the hell he was in league with to manage to get things moving before the storm hit, and that oversight might cost them dearly. He wondered if he was getting sloppy, and the thought rankled.

"In a blizzard?" Riza asked doubtfully. "Even with all the urgency in the world, it may be impossible at this point."

"It had better be possible, because otherwise it may be too late."

* * *

He woke sluggishly to a dull grey day. Instincts told him that the lack of sunlight signified a predawn hour, and he rolled over, reaching out instinctively with one hand for Edward's warm bulk to pull against himself. It was _cold_ out.

A few moments of fruitless pawing later, and he woke up to the fact that Edward wasn't in bed with him – and when he opened his eyes, annoying black blots marring his vision, he remembered why.

He sat up, shivering just a little, melancholy stealing over him. Though he was quite fond of snow he hated blizzards, and if there was something more uncomfortable than being trapped in a small house during a blizzard with a bunch of people he didn't know, he had yet to discover it.

The clock showed that it was far from being dawn, nearly nine o'clock, but he felt no great urge to get up. It wasn't like there was anything to _do_ but sit around and wait for the storm to blow over.

He could go downstairs, he knew, but the thought of confronting everybody else, and all that entailed, tired him. Downstairs he would get to watch Al following Edward around like a lost puppy, Edward patently ecstatic to have him by his side. Alfons didn't begrudge them the time together – he knew, first hand, just how much Edward had missed Al and he assumed that vice-versa – but still, he wouldn't mind having Edward to himself for just a little while.

After those few desperate hugs when Alfons had just woken up and was still blind and disoriented, he hadn't really had a chance to _live_ the fact that Edward was alive, and he was alive, and they could be gloriously alive together. What he really wanted was to cuddle – well, actually he wanted to do quite a bit more than cuddle, but he recognized the impossibility, and anyway, there was no privacy to be had.

There wasn't even enough privacy to deal with the myriads of important things that were really starting to prey on Alfons' mind. His head was practically spinning with half-formed plans about housing, work, studies – but he couldn't even get Edward alone long enough to talk about where they were going to live, much less anything else. This was it, they had succeeded, and he was absolutely _dying_ to hole up with some rocket schematics in a lab of his own. Edward had promised him airplanes, but....

He looked out at the blank, grayish view outside the window rather forlornly. In this weather, any sort of aircraft was ridiculous. On a day like this he wouldn't normally even let Edward out of bed much less considered going to a lab - if, that is, they had been free to do as they pleased in a home of their own, with nobody else to make demands on their time.

They would have stayed in bed and warmed each other up, and a few hours later would probably have brought some books over, and....

He sighed.

Next to his bed lay the pack he had brought from America, and he rummaged around in it, searching for one of the precious notebooks he had brought. He pulled it out carefully, setting it on his lap, and allowing it to fall open. Reading was difficult, as the blind spots seemed to be quite adept at situating themselves right in the middle of whatever word Alfons might be trying to look at. Even if he could read, though, these notebooks would be sort of useless, given they were all _backwards__._ He flipped through the pages idly, contemplating the mirrored text which now looked nothing like his handwriting.

He wished Edward was around to crack some jokes about it with, because otherwise the prospect of recopying all his notes was rather bleak. Reconstructing his research was going to be a pain in the ass.

A strange clunking sound made him look up, and it took him a moment to remember that with the automail, that was what Edward's footsteps sounded like. Edward. His heart fluttered just a bit.

"Alfons?" He came into view now, walking slowly with his hands outstretched to keep from bumping into anything. As always, in the two days since his eyesight had returned, it took him just the tiniest fraction of a second to recognize him. Colors were brighter here, he had known to anticipate that, but it wasn't quite enough to prepare him for how _vivid_ Edward looked, even in the snowy lack of sunlight. For that matter, he still wasn't used to seeing the stranger he had become whenever he looked in the mirror.

"Here," he called, knowing Edward needed his voice as an anchor. Edward adjusted his direction a bit, coming towards him. Watching Edward's slow gait was painful, because he remembered what being blind was like from the two days he had stumbled around in the dark before his vision had started returning. Edward hadn't said anything, but he hadn't missed the relief mixed with despair over the fact that though Alfons could see again, Edward was still blind.

"They sent me to check on you, to make sure you were okay." The half smile on his face showed that Edward _really_ didn't mind being told to look up on him. Edward missed him, too.

"Careful, bed," Alfons said, when Edward was on the verge of bumping into it. Edward paused, reached down to find it, then awkwardly scrambled on. "I'm okay," he told him, once Edward was settled, "I just didn't really feel like getting up yet."

"Lazybones. Barely a week out of university, and you're already a slacker." Edward grinned, and Alfons reminded himself to stop trying to meet Edward's eyes.

"I think there's nothing wrong with sleeping in. This is like a vacation for me." He paused, grinned back even though he knew Edward couldn't see him. "It's not my fault you pick crappy vacation spots. Why you decided to come in the middle of a blizzard is beyond me." He hoped his frustration didn't show in his voice, and tried not to look beyond the surface of the conversation. He didn't want to bring up just how much he missed university, how much he wanted to be back there.

"I didn't know there was going to be a blizzard!" Edward began defensively, before he realized Alfons was teasing him, and huffed. Even so, a smile twitched at the corners of his mouth, and Alfons had to resist the urge to kiss him, because Edward was lovely, even when he was frustrating.

"How is your chest doing?" Serious now, Edward's smile was momentarily overshadowed by a worried look.

"I'm _fine_," Alfons said. It still hurt, but Winry had assured him that he was out of danger. "Just like the last twenty times you asked." He would have poked fun at this, too, but the relief on Edward's face was too naked, and he felt suddenly somber.

Before he could remember why he wasn't supposed to, Alfons ran his hand up Edward's back to squeeze his shoulder comfortingly. Maybe Edward also forgot they weren't supposed to because he leaned in just a little, tilting his head towards Alfons, and it was only natural that Alfons should brush a soft kiss across his lips. He would have pulled away, then, but Edward wouldn't let him, scooting forward to press himself flush up against Alfons' side. Instinctively, Alfons shifted away from the automail just a little bit, because those machines were really disturbing, and they _hummed_.

"Alfons?" Edward sounded confused, his entire body suddenly tense. "Did I hurt you?"

"No, no," he said quickly, wrapping an arm around Edward's waist. "The automail just surprised me." Anything more, and Edward would probably start feeling inadequate. He would get used to it. He swallowed. Eventually.

"Are you sure everything's fine?" Edward asked anxiously, eyes wide and worried.

"Completely. Don't worry." He would never tire of reassuring Edward, not even if he asked him every day for the rest of their lives. Anything to keep that lost look from ever returning to his face.

It worked. Edward smiled again, his good humor irrepressible, and Alfons loved it.

Could he ask now? Gently remind Edward that they had to start thinking about a home for themselves, and silence his gnawing fear that Edward might not be ready to leave, yet? He hadn't expected to show up in the middle of nowhere, and hadn't expected how much Edward would want to _stay_. What was he supposed to _do_ here if Edward decided he was content? That couldn't happen... could it?

Footsteps approached, and a familiar voice made Alfons' heart sink. He hadn't spoken.

"Brother?"

Both he and Edward jerked into motion, pulling away from each other and pretending they hadn't been sitting so close just seconds ago. When Al entered the room they were at a decent distance from each other, though there was an awkward silence that advertised loudly and clearly that Al had interrupted something.

"Hey, Al," Edward said, looking in his direction, and switching back to English. Only when they were completely alone did Edward still speak German to him, and Alfons missed it. "I can make my way around the house by myself, you know."

He had never really thought about it before, but Edward had the cutest accent in German.

"It was taking you a long time." Apparently deciding that if Edward was allowed to sit on Alfons' bed, Al could too, the boy made himself comfortable, and shot Alfons an unreadable look. "I just wanted to make sure nothing had happened."

Alfons tried not to stare, but it was still difficult. Though it wasn't as awful as he had feared, his similarity to Alphonse Elric was downright disturbing. No wonder Edward had been all hung up about it way back in Germany.

"You're all a bunch of mother hens," Edward grumbled. "I wish this stupid blizzard was over, then you'd all have something else to worry about."

"Oh please, you love the attention," Alfons laughed, and wondered at the slight frown that flashed across Al's features.

"If Alfons is up you should come back downstairs," Al said, grabbing Edward's human arm. "They want to play another game of rummy, and I'm sick of it."

"What do you expect me to do?" Edward groused. "I can't play rummy, I can't see the cards. Hey Alfons," he turned back to him, and Alfons caught his breath once again at how _gorgeous_ his eyes were, here. "Come on down with us, you can play rummy with them."

"I don't know how to play," he said. So much for hanging out in his own little corner until the storm blew over.

"We'll teach you," Edward grinned.

He didn't know why Al looked annoyed at the prospect.

"Let me get dressed, then," he said, capitulating. Almost immediately Al was tugging on Edward's arm, saying, "Come on, let's go back down and let him get organized."

Before Alfons knew what was happening Al had whisked Edward out the door, and the last thing he heard over their retreating footsteps was Edward asking Al if he had told him about that one time that-?

So much for alone time with Edward.

And that was the final problem, the greatest obstacle. If Al lived way out here, Edward would certainly want to be close to him. Yet somehow Alfons doubted that he would be able to find work, or an institution of learning, or a sponsor or _anything_ in the area. He wasn't so selfish as to demand Edward leave his brother – whom he hadn't seen in four years – so soon, but they really had to talk about it, and there just wasn't _when_. If he was honest with himself, he would admit that he was afraid Edward might see it as an ultimatum, and that was the _last_ thing he wanted.

He reminded himself that he wasn't going to begrudge anybody anything, and quickly went to get dressed.

The Rockbells had been kind enough to lend him clothes, most of which seemed to have belonged to Winry's late father. It made Alfons sort of uncomfortable to be wearing a dead man's clothes, but not enough to suffer cold for it. Keeping the entire house warm would take too much energy, so they kept the fire going downstairs, and bundled up in blankets.

A quick stop in the bathroom showed that the pipes were still frozen, and if he wanted to wash his face he would have to melt some snow for it. He scrubbed at his eyes, and frowned at his reflection for a few minutes.

There was nothing he could do about the subtle _wrongness_ of his features, but he combed his fingers through his hair, debating whether or not he should transfer the part to the other side. He took a breath and was about to ask Edward what he thought, then remembered that Edward was downstairs with everybody else and it would look weird if Alfons were to ask that sort of thing. Coming to a decision, he parted his hair on the opposite side – which, in this world, was the side his part was _supposed_ to be on – and decided he liked it better.

Now all that he was left with was getting downstairs. He stood at the door to the bathroom a moment, reminding himself. At the door to the room he had to turn left, which meant turning right, and then down the stairs which had two right turns – which meant left twice, and at the bottom another left, which was right. He could _do_ this.

The problem was that what seemed logical in theory got very complicated when he actually tried to implement it.

He passed the first obstacle – the door – with no mishap, and thought he was going to make it down the stairs safely, when somewhere around the second bend in the stairwell his brain abruptly shrieked at him that the empty space was to his _left_, dammit, and when he tried to turn he found himself completely disoriented and walked face-first into the wall.

Shit.

No wonder everybody thought he was a clumsy oaf. At least he hadn't gotten a nosebleed, this time.

* * *

The wail of the storm never abated, and Alfons found falling asleep difficult. He tossed and turned on the narrow cot which seemed far too big for him without Edward's beside him. The fact that now Edward couldn't hog the blankets – being on his own bed, across the room – wasn't very comforting. It had been decided that all the boys (except Cain, of course) should share a room, and so beds had been set up for the three of them. The knowledge that Edward was so close, yet so far out of his reach, was positively excruciating.

In time he fell into a fitful sleep, the wind howling through his dreams. He jolted awake at some point, immediately aware that the storm had acquired a human counterpoint. Softly he rolled out of bed, shivering against the cold air, and padded over to where Edward lay tense and whimpering.

It wouldn't do for Al to be woken up; Edward would surely be unhappy about what he perceived as being burdensome. Alfons sat down slowly on the bed, minding the creaks, and then leaned over Edward. With one hand, he gently covered his mouth, suppressing any noise Edward might make, and then shook him slightly.

"Edward, wake up," he whispered, shaking again. Edward's eyes suddenly flew open, his irises hardly visible in the dim light, and a cry was stopped by Alfons' palm.

"Shh, I'm right here, Edward, it's me, you were just dreaming..." he murmured, his lips brushing Edward's ear, his lover's hair tickling his nose. Edward said nothing, hardly blinking, but he relaxed slowly, his face losing some of its wide-eyed horror.

"Alfons," he breathed, when Alfons had removed his hand. "This isn't a dream? You're here?"

His stomach twisted at the thought of what sort of nightmare Edward must have been having. "Yeah." He stretched out by Edward's side, trying to gain as much contact as possible, and couldn't resist the sound of contentment when Edward's arms wrapped around him in an embrace. He closed his eyes, and remembered what it had been like to be blind – to hear and smell and feel, but not see, and shuddered at the thought. Pressed his nose to Edward's shoulder and just breathed, though the position awoke stabbing pains in his chest.

"Good."

He could positively hear the smile in Edward's voice, the unfeigned relief. Any minute now he would have to go, because falling asleep next to Edward was a risk they couldn't take, but for now he would drag it out just a bit more....

Insistent hands were pulling on him, urging him up, and reluctantly he complied – but then Edward was tugging again, bringing their mouths together. Alfons forgot he had been cold, lost in the heat Edward could always kindle in him.

"How dark is it?" Edward asked, his voice hardly audible above the storm. "Can you see?"

Alfons paused a moment, his mind racing to figure out what answer would make Edward happy, but he really didn't know, and so just told the truth. "Not really," he whispered, resisting the urge to let his tongue flick out against Edward's ear.

That was the right answer, apparently, because Edward's smile – just barely visible in the whiter patch of his teeth in pitch dark – seemed genuine. "It's dark," said Edward, his eyes open blankly.

But no, in the dark they weren't blank and staring, and Edward wasn't an awkward, shuffling creature. From where he was it seemed like there was nothing different at all. Edward's hands were sure on his body, and Alfons knew at that moment that nothing had changed. Not really.

Yet there was something _new_ in the way Edward felt, familiar-but-not, and Alfons could feel the same sort of curiosity in Edward. He would have to relearn all the places that made Edward shiver and moan, and thrummed with the joy of discovery. Right now, he could have died of desire for the feel of Edward's skin against his own, but at the back of his mind was the constant knowledge that Al was _right there._ The thought that Al might forever be _right there_ didn't bear considering.

Under cover of the storm they lay together, their touches electric even through a layer of clothes, until Alfons had to return to his own bed for fear of being discovered. The sheets were cold, a shock after the warmth of Edward's body. He curled up forlornly and tried to get some sleep before grey morning.

* * *

One way to pass the time was eating, dragging out meals not with the actual act but with just talking and talking, refusing to rise and search out other amusements. Food was simple, but filling. They ate meat from stores, bread and molasses, preserves, and the like. When they could no longer justify sitting at the table because in not too long it would be time for the next meal, they read, or talked, or told stories. Edward, particularly, was fond of regaling everybody with highly embarrassing tales from America, which somehow were never quite like Alfons remembered them. He was often tempted to tell Edward to stop, not because he really cared that these people might hear about that one time with the humming (though he actually did sort of mind, when he bothered admitting it to himself), but because of the speculating looks he kept on getting. Right now was definitely not the right time to admit what they were to each other, Edward didn't even have to explain why, but couldn't the man see that with all the hints he was dropping people would have to be blin- _stupid_ not to figure things out?

The notion crossed his mind that maybe this was some sort of attempt on Edward's part to tell without really telling, but since Al managed to zero in on them every time they had so much as a moment to themselves, it was rather difficult to ask. Long ago Edward had told him that relationships like theirs were not nearly the taboo they were in Alfons' world, but it still made him nervous. If things were truly so simple, Edward wouldn't have bothered hiding it at all.

Winry spent much of the time puttering with automail, and anybody who looked bored was liable to get roped into helping with something or other. Anybody but Alfons, actually. He would have been interested in maybe learning about how they worked, but she seemed awkward around him, and disinclined to tease him the way she did Edward and Al. Asking her for some explanations occurred to him, but he felt uncomfortable enough that he was dependent on the Rockbells for room, board and clothing, he didn't want to be more of a bother. So he hung around with the others, who had to make do with more mundane activities.

Unfortunately, a favorite pastime appeared to be arguing about what exactly was wrong with Edward and Alfons. This wouldn't have been so annoying if it hadn't come part and parcel with many more examinations than Alfons thought necessary.

"Describe again, what it was like when you came through," Pinako said, her eyes narrowed in thought.

Edward groaned. "I told you a thousand times. Alfons was unconscious for most of it because he was shot." The first few times Edward had trailed off, here, and his voice had shaken unsteadily. Alfons had wanted to take his hand, but restrained himself to touching the tips of his fingers to Edward's forearm. Now repetition had inured him, somewhat. "It was like the world was breaking, like... there were directions that just don't exist, you know? And I tried to understand how they worked, and it _hurt_."

No two descriptions sounded the same, and Alfons almost regretted not having experienced the fourth dimension properly. _That_ would have been one heck of a memory, unpleasant though it sounded.

"I still say that has to be the reason Alfons is recovering so much faster," Winry said. "Whatever caused the blindness, maybe the fact that he was unconscious saved him from the worst of it."

"We have no way to prove it one way or another," Pinako said tiredly. "It's a good theory, but there is no way to test it without experimentation -"

Al made a sound of protest.

"-which we will not be doing, for the obvious reasons."

At that point Alfons was just tired of the noise, of the endless forced company, and quietly got up to slip into the kitchen. He wanted Edward all to himself, if only for just half an hour. He was tired of speaking English, tired of being on guard constantly, and could _really_ use a drink.

His eye fell on a photograph-covered corkboard, which somehow he had never noticed before. What struck him immediately was that the photographs were in full color. He wondered how they got them to-

Then he saw the pictures of Edward. Edward and Al as children, young and innocent. Edward as a teenager grinning from a picture in a newspaper, hair braided back, wearing leather. He had been a really cute kid, Alfons thought vaguely, feeling strangely unhappy. These pictures mapped out an Edward he had never known, not _really, _not like these people did. He had never known an Edward with no sadness lurking behind his eyes.

He was just starting to puzzle his way through a newspaper clipping about the misadventures of the Fullmetal Alchemist in Fairview, when a voice jolted his thoughts away.

"I always find that board strange," Rose said, coming up next to him to contemplate the pictures. "It's not often you can find such direct documentation of the changes in a person's life."

"Yeah." He could associate the pictures with stories, mostly. But to him, that was all they were, fantastical stories – he hadn't even seen alchemy at work, yet, in this world.

"Pardon me for being forward," she said, and the determined note in her voice made him glance at her, then look away quickly. Her hair was pink, and her eyes were purple. He didn't _get_ it. "But why did you come here?" She paused, hurried ahead, "I understand you and Ed are very close, but surely you were leaving behind....?"

Sudden panic stabbed at him. There was no simple answer that didn't involve delving into what they meant to each other.

"We were to build rockets together," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. At her blank look, he elaborated, "Flying machines. Edward said you don't have them, in this world."

Everybody here called him 'Ed'. Edward had never invited that sort of familiarity from him, and he didn't really know how to feel about that. He thought Edward had told him everything, thought they were as close as they could be, but....

"Oh! Like the ones Ed was telling us about?"

He nodded, but was disquieted by how the initial joy of recognition faded off her face, leaving her disturbed. Neither he nor Edward had ever said anything to give her reason to fear aircraft.

"I don't understand," she admitted. "Bringing you here was not the best idea. I hope he didn't mislead you as to what this country is like."

"He told me stories," Alfons said, and trailed off questioningly, hoping she would elaborate. Information was something he desperately wanted.

She sighed. "This place is a mess. For a while it looked like Parliament was going to clear things up, but they don't have enough power to actually oppose the generals, who have mostly holed up in their own areas with their soldiers, and refuse to surrender power. If word gets out that you can build some sort of flying machine...." Her shudder spoke more eloquently than words of what the consequences might be. "They could attack from the sky. If that knowledge gets out, it could put us all in danger."

No rockets. His heart plummeted so fast it left him breathless and desolate. Further explanations were unnecessary, he could imagine it well enough. Supplying an already-militant country like Amestris with airplanes at this point in time could plunge it into all-out war.

"Are you alright?"

Her voice sounded far away, and he refocused his eyes, tried to smile. His face felt stiff. "Yes." He swallowed. "What kind of universities are here?"

"Universities?"

The tone of her question was not encouraging.

"There's just the one, Northern University, in North City," she said sounding apologetic.

One university. In a country half the size of the United States there was _one university_. "Where do people go to learn?" he asked weakly. There had to be _something_, some institution that sponsored the academia!

"Apprenticeships, mostly," Rose said, looking slightly taken aback at the intensity with which he was searching her face. "The military sponsors most projects... or did, but now Parliament is trying to take over... and mostly failing."

He hardly noticed the cynicism. Right now he wasn't concerned with this country's problems, except it seemed those problems effectively cut him off from both work and studies.

Worst case scenario: if Edward never managed to do alchemy again, what would they do for jobs? And if Edward _did_ return to being an alchemist, what was _he_ going to do, lacking any outlet for his particular skills? Stay at home and clean their house?

A soft touch on his arm snapped him suddenly back into focus, and he saw Rose's dark hand, followed it up to her face.

"Is everything okay? You've gone pale. Do you feel alright?"

"Yes." There was nothing else to answer. He wandered away from the wall of pictures, suddenly unable to tolerate looking at them. Stepping out of the kitchen he saw Edward with Al and Winry, Edward's voice raised indignantly.

Winry was brushing his hair, pulling it back into a braid – just like in the photos – swatting his hands away when he tried to do it himself, telling him he would probably braid it crookedly and get it caught in his automail.

"I never _used_ to get my hair caught in my automail!" Edward complained. "Al, tell her!"

There was only the tiniest pause, then Al said, "On come on, Brother, let her do it this once!"

"Geez, Winry, cut it out, my hair was _fine_...."

He stood there on the side, watching the three of them – Al looking all happy, showing none of the animosity he seemed to harbor towards Alfons, Edward grinning like a loon, and Winry running her fingers through the golden strands of his hair, leaning over him just a bit.

He had never managed to make Edward so happy.

There was a slight ache in his palms from how tightly his fists were clenched, and he forced himself to relax, squared his shoulders and just walked away. There was no room for him in that scene.

As he walked up the stairs he thought he heard Rose's voice calling his name, but ignored it.

He entered his room, which wasn't even his own, and sat down woodenly on the bed, putting his head in his hands.

The fact that right now he had _nothing_, no career, no prospects, no _future_ was twisting its way through his belly, leaving him sore and shaking. All Edward's promises had sounded so good back in Germany-

No, face it, he told himself harshly. He had followed a pretty, shiny dream, and maybe right now it was going to blow up. He had put his life on hold to help Edward return home, and somewhere deep down he had never really sat and thought about what he would do once he got here. Rockets and moonshine. Naively he had sort of thought that as long as Edward was by his side, everything would work out.

On the other hand, maybe Rose was wrong. What he really needed to do was try and figure out how much of what she said was accurate, and if so, what to do about it. It didn't necessarily mean that he would _never_ be able to build rockets here. He should ask Edward, see what -

No. He shook his head. Relying on Edward for everything was ridiculous. He would figure this out on his own, and if it was true, he didn't even need to bring it up. It sort of looked like Edward had forgotten all about the rockets, anyway.

He had never considered what he would do with himself once Edward no longer needed him.

Somewhere deep in his mind a small voice was trying to tell him to take a deep breath and calm down. He tried, he really did, but then he remembered Winry's hands in Edward's hair and saw _red_.

Edward was _his_, Goddamnit!

Familiar step-clunking became audible, and he felt a twinge of annoyance. _Now_ Edward remembers him.

"Alfons, are you here? Rose said I should come talk to you. Did something happen?"

"Talk German, for God's sake," Alfons snapped, sitting up and glaring. Edward paused, eyebrows creasing, before he fumbled his way to Alfons.

"What's wrong?" He was speaking German, now, which slightly mollified Alfons, taking the edge off his anger.

What could he say? Tell Edward that this world looked like a dead-end for him?

"Nothing," he said listlessly. He must not have been particularly convincing, though, because Edward drooped, looking absolutely crushed. He had never really noticed how much Edward strove to hide his emotions until now, when his face was like an open book. Probably a side-effect of not being able to see.

"It's really nothing," he said, trying to sound jovial. It figured that he would be the only one to make Edward miserable.

For a few minutes they just sat like that, side by side, in complete silence. Alfons stared at the blank window, listening to the wind howl. He needed to give Edward time, he told himself. They would talk, they would work this out. Together they had surmounted much larger difficulties.

A hand against his jerked him out of his musing, and he looked down to find that Edward had linked their fingers together. Alfons knew he should pull away, somebody might see, but didn't have the strength. He squeezed back, not wanting to ever let go.

"I wanted to transmute a rocket for you," Edward said quietly. "I was going to show you how easily we can fix the fuel problems. You could make whatever design you wanted, and I would transmute the very best materials for you."

Alfons' heart jumped, and he stared at Edward, whose downturned face was obscured by his hair. In all his deliberations, he hadn't once stopped to think of what Edward's loss of alchemy must mean to him. He was so used to Edward without it, he hadn't considered how much he must have missed it.

"In that case," he said, "I hope I don't see any alchemy in the near future. I want yours to be the first alchemy I see, here." Nothing would ever beat the image of Edward in the array, though, and he felt mildly gleeful that at least _that_ was all his own.

Edward jerked up and looked in his general direction, his face suddenly flushing red to the roots of his hair. Alfons leaned in to kiss him, effectively muffling Edward's embarrassed stammers.

"I promised, though," Edward said when Alfons pulled away. Alfons couldn't keep the soft smile from his face, and wished Edward could see him, and know that everything was okay.

Wait.... He took Edward's wrist in his hand and brought the hand up to his face, so Edward could feel it for himself. But something was still wrong, because though his expression lightened a bit, there was still a darkness lurking there. _Al_'s smiles made Edward smile, but his....

"I'm sorry," Edward said, sounding almost desperate now. "I did promise, I'm going to make sure you can build rockets, Alfons, okay?"

Alfons sighed. "It's okay, Edward. Please stop worrying about that. I can't build rockets right now, anyway. From what I've heard, introducing aircraft right now might start a war or something."

Edward looked devastated. "Oh." He swallowed, then said in an impossibly tiny voice, "Is... is that why you've been avoiding me?"

...What?

He sputtered for a few seconds, then finally managed, "What the _hell,_ Edward, you're the one who's been ignoring _me_!"

"No I haven't! You're just never around-"

"I'm _always_ around, you just never pay any attention!"

"I'm fucking _blind_," Edward howled. "If you don't speak up, how the bloody hell am I supposed to know you're there?"

"God," Alfons mumbled, putting his head in his hands, absolutely mortified. He was such an idiot. How had he managed to not figure that out?

Edward's mouth worked silently. "So let me get this straight. You've been sitting there the whole time waiting for me to notice you."

"You can stop right there," Alfons said, attempting to forestall the grin threatening to spread across Edward's face.

"You're an _idiot,_" Edward announced gleefully.

"Shut up." But he couldn't put any real force into it, not even for play, because he had just managed to make Edward's blindness into a bit of a joke, and Edward was grinning about it.

"What, did you expect me to ask the air if you're around at regular intervals? I can do that, you know. Every half an hour I'll say 'Hey Alfons, are you still there-'"

"_No_. Stop it, Edward!" He reached over to grab him, trying to shake him into silence, but Edward wouldn't be cowed.

"Do you want it more often? Because if you do-"

Alfons pounced, pinning Edward back on the mattress, and attacked his neck mercilessly with his fingers, tickling him until Edward was breathless with laughter. The image of Edward on the bed, flushed and writhing, his hair coming out of the braid Winry had so painstakingly plaited, stirred something in him, but he pushed it away. He was proud of himself for not getting taken in by how Edward was on his back and panting on his bed, right next to him, so close he could feel the warmth of his skin.

He had made Edward laugh, and that would be good enough for him.

* * *

After that, it was relatively easy to set his worries aside, and just allow the storm to pass, even if the fact that Edward had taken to randomly ask if he was around every so often – usually when it was quite obvious Alfons was right there – was a bit annoying. Edward, however, derived great and obvious amusement from it, and Alfons didn't miss how every time he did it Winry got a speculating look on her face. Alfons longed to tell her to just _back off_ a little. Surely Edward didn't need so many automail tune-ups, and surely he didn't have to be practically naked for them?

Everybody else, it seemed, got to tease and play with Edward. They scuffled good-naturedly, played with his hair, but Alfons didn't dare join in on the fun lest he betray something he shouldn't. He longed to take a stance once and for all, growl and stake his claim, seat Edward next to him and glare at anybody who came too close.

He was also quite aware that this was completely ridiculous and irrational.

It was just so strange to him, realizing that suddenly there were other people around who regarded Edward as desirable, moreover, people who Edward paid attention to and cared about their opinions. They were no longer an island in the midst of society, and it threw him off balance.

_Just a few more days_, Edward whispered in his ear at night, when he crawled into Alfons' bed and kissed him all over, endlessly sweet and utterly forbidden. _Give Al more time, let the storm blow over, we'll leave and get our own home, but soon. Just a bit longer_.

Alfons nodded and pretended to agree, but he knew that it wasn't just Al who needed the time. Clear as day, it was obvious that Edward wasn't ready yet, either. It looked like this storm was really a blessing in disguise. Maybe by the time it was over and the rails were up and running again, things would be different.

* * *

Something was shaking him out of a nice, sound sleep, and he batted it away irritably.

_"Wake up, Alfons!"_

He grumbled and rolled over, trying to pull the blanket over his head, but it wouldn't budge.

_"Alfons..."_

When he finally opened his eyes, he had to squint at the strange brightness. "I'm up, I'm up," he told Edward, still not quite sure why the early wake-up had been necessary.

"The storm's over!" Edward said gleefully, and Alfons woke up some more.

"Really?" Now that his brain was working better, he could see that the room was flooded with bright sunlight. Out the window the world was white and gleaming, reflecting sunlight off frozen trees and hills. Involuntarily, he felt a smile spread across his face. "It is!"

Edward laughed in delight, tugging on his arms, and for a minute it was as if he weren't blind.

"Come on, Alfons, you should look outside! You should see what Amestris is really like."

His glee was infectious, and Alfons stumbled after him quickly, just pausing to pull on a pair of slippers and grab a sweater. He even managed to avoid crashing into any walls on the way downstairs.

Everybody else seemed just as excited. The door was thrown wide open, heedless of the cold blowing in, and people were in high spirits. Cain was clamoring to go play in the snow, though Rose warned him that it was still just a bit too deep for him.

"So? What do you think?" Edward asked proudly. Alfons looked around, taking in the clear air, the deep blue of the sky, contrasting with the miles of white that surrounded them. Here and there dark smudges of smoke rising marked homes, and off to one side he could see a large collection of houses, probably Resembool proper.

"It's a lovely world," he said, because it was, even if he was quite a bit more interested in seeing cities than he was in farmland. Edward beamed, and he smiled reflexively back. So pretty in the sunlight, he thought inanely.

The smile dropped abruptly off his face, though, when he happened to glance to the side and caught sight of Al, who was positively _glaring_ at him. The moment he noticed Alfons' scrutiny, though, the dark look vanished from his face so quickly he wondered if he had imagined it.

"You shouldn't be out here, with your lungs in the state they're in!" Winry was suddenly scolding him, shooing him back inside. Since Edward – and subsequently everybody else – was likewise ushered back in, he didn't resist, still disquieted by what he had seen.

"Well!" Winry announced, "Vacation's over!" There were things to be done. Laundry could be hung out once more, garbage disposed of. Snow had to be shoveled to make a path towards the village, where, Winry explained, the crews would meet up and clear the road. As both Edward and Alfons were patently unable to do that sort of work, they were chosen to stay inside with Pinako while Winry, Rose and Al went to clear the yard, Cain joining in for the fun.

Alfons sat at the window watching them work, feeling sort of useless. The ache in his chest was enough to warn him off even considering working, but he still felt like he should be doing something. In the end he pulled out a book and sat and read to Edward, which had the added bonus of giving him a legitimate excuse to sit right next to him.

The workers trooped back in around lunch, flushed and laughing, stomping snow off boots and shaking it out of clothes. Because Alfons was looking for it, this time he didn't miss the quick look marring the pleasure on Al's face before he made a beeline for them, and started chattering at Edward about something or other.

It occurred to him that maybe he and Al needed to have a talk, to clarify –

He sighed. Since nobody was supposed to know about him and Edward, clarifications would be difficult.

-

The tail end of lunch was interrupted by a knock on the door, which opened to reveal two men, which seemed well known to everybody (but Alfons), probably from town.

"We're sending out crews to clear the tracks," the taller one said, taking off his cap and twisting it in his hands, craning just a bit to see into the house. "A whole troop of soldiers even showed up to help, must've been caught in the storm somewhere in the area. Hopefully we should get new supplies on the train that's supposed to clear them out of here."

Rose sighed in relief. "That's wonderful. We were starting to run low."

"You and everybody else," the other man said, his dark beard quivering with a chuckle. "But that's why we're here. The Goldfingers are in a bad way, their house was damaged pretty badly by the storm. And Rose, we were hoping to have you organize the children to help. You've always had a way with them."

"Of course-"

"Edward!" The first man suddenly said loudly, making everybody jump. "I'd heard you were back! Look at you, alive as anything and looking no worse for wear!"

Edward grinned uncertainly at the air. "Good to be back – Jones and Dale, right?"

"What, gone four years and you already can't recognize us?" the younger one said, mock-offended. "Speaking of which, where were you? Everybody's been calling you dead."

Apparently noticing the slightly uncomfortable silence at those words, the older one cleared his throat.

"Jones, leave the kid alone. Though," his tone turned speculating, "we sure could use your help down at the station. I bet you could get rid of the snow in a flash!"

The subsequent silence was even worse than the first one, and Alfons didn't think _anybody_ missed the bleak expression on Edward's face. He hated not being able to comfort him, but at least Al was by his side.

"Edward's hurt," Winry said shortly. "He's not going anywhere. If you need an alchemist, why not take Al?"

The men jumped on this suggestion eagerly, turning to him, but Al looked less than enthusiastic.

"I don't want to leave Ed," he said, stepping closer to his brother.

Winry and Rose exchanged a meaningful glance, but it was Pinako who spoke.

"Al, you always said alchemy is a skill to be used for the good of the people."

Al wasn't particularly happy to hear that. "I won't leave him," he said stubbornly.

Edward touched him on the arm. "Al, you should go," he said quietly, forcing a grin. "I won't exactly be going anywhere now, will I? Go show them what you can do."

"Brother," Al said plaintively, and Alfons was pretty sure at that moment that Edward would cave, because how could he possibly resist such a plea?

"I don't want to leave you alone," Al continued.

"I won't be." Edward gripped his arm. "I'll have Granny and Alfons to keep me company."

Any annoyance at being listed last evaporated as Alfons realized that it was true, he _was_ going to be left alone in the house with Edward. Fine, with Grandma Pinako too, but finding a quiet corner would be a cinch. _Finally_ he would have Edward all to himself!

He tried to keep the grin off his face as Al acquiesced grudgingly to Winry's admonishments of "for goodness' sake Al, we're in the middle of nowhere, what could possibly happen?"

Shortly afterwards Rose left with the men, Cain's mittened hand firmly grasped in hers, while Winry got together things to take to help the Goldfingers. Alfons would have liked to help, but Winry was quick enough to gather what she needed and brushed him away abruptly, though not unkindly. Al loitered around a few more minutes until Winry shooed him out the door ahead of her, and closed it behind them.

He looked to Edward, who seemed just the tiniest bit disappointed. His query whether everything was okay was interrupted by Granny Pinako, who was looking between the two of them, an unreadable look on her face.

"I'm going to be in the workshop, if you need me," she said. Her raspy voice was completely guileless as she added, "though you might have to yell a bit loudly so I hear you over the machinery. Alfons, watch over the shrimp. He's a pain when he gets bored."

No way. Absolutely no way. He gulped and stammered out agreement, which was mostly directed at her retreating back. Either this was the greatest coincidence ever, or she knew, and was giving them tacit approval.

"I am _not_ a shrimp," Edward groused. "I've grown taller! Haven't I, Alfons?"

"Er, not that I've noticed," he said absently, still preoccupied. "I always thought you were a fine height, why?"

If she knew, wouldn't she have just _said_ something? Or was this just how she chose to do things?

Edward sputtered, looking shocked. "T-that's... what do you mean _fine_, I'm..."

"Huh?" Looking at Edward, it was obvious something was bothering him, though Alfons wasn't quite sure what. "Edward," he said, lowering his voice, "did you _hear_ what she said? Do you think she-"

"Fuck what she said!" Edward nearly shouted. "Say it again!"

"Say what?" Now Alfons was bewildered.

"That thing about my height."

Whatever this was seemed to be important to Edward, and he felt a flash of concern. Quickly running over everything he had said in the past few minutes, he tried to figure out what could have elicited this sort of reaction. "I, uh, don't think I said anything about it?" he said uncertainly. "I said I think it's fine?"

He had no clue where this was coming from. Oh, he could remember one or two jokes in the rocket team back in Germany about Edward being the 'little one', but it hadn't made much of an impression on him besides the fact that it seemed to annoy Edward a bit.

Certainly nothing to warrant the strange look currently on Edward's face.

"I'm... not tall," Edward said, with some difficultly.

"So?"

"Everybody here used to tease me about being short _all _the time!"

Why was this such an issue? "You're not exactly tall, but I don't really get what the fuss is about," Alfons said. He just hoped he wouldn't piss Edward off. They were wasting valuable time, damn it! The house was empty, and Pinako was gone, and all Edward could talk about was his _height_?

"You mean you never _noticed _it?" Edward asked, stark disbelief on his face. Alfons wanted to shake him.

"No," he said impatiently, taking his hand and starting to lead him to the stairs. One of them had to keep their wits about them. "Edward, the house is _empty_, or haven't you realized-"

"No, wait a second!" Edward interrupted, digging in his heels. "Why did you never tease me about-"

"_Because I don't care_," Alfons cried in frustration. "Why the hell would I tease you about being short?"

"So now you _are_ calling me short?"

Alfons wanted to tear out his hair. "NO," he bellowed. "I don't give a damn how tall you are! I never even thought about it until this very moment!"

Edward blinked, confused, but at least the weird animosity was dying.

"As a matter of fact, right now I care far more about getting you horizontal than how far you reach on a vertical axis _anyway_!" He was nearly panting with the effort of not shouting that last line. Better hope Pinako was right about the machinery being loud.

"Horizon- oh." Understanding dawned, and he flushed just a little bit, but was thankfully _finally_ starting to look interested.

"Yes," Alfons said, steering Edward towards the stairs. Now Edward came willingly, apparently finally understanding the wonderful situation. "So how about-"

His words were cut off by a kiss slightly clumsily pressed to his mouth. It took Edward a moment to fine the proper angle, since he couldn't see, but Alfons was quite happy to compensate. Talking was overrated anyway.

_This_ was familiar. Walking slowly, tugging and half-leaning on each other, pausing every few steps to kiss and pull at clothes. Seeing Edward in the bright sunlight was so much better than stealing kisses under cover of darkness, finally allowing his eyes to feast on all the differences he had only been able to feel until now. They fell onto his bed, already tangled together, Alfons trying to reach as much of Edward's skin as possible without pulling away from his mouth. He hardly registered Edward's slight clumsiness, but there was something just wrong enough to make things feel strange. Edward was jumpy, unable to throw himself into it with the abandon Alfons loved, eyes eerily wide and staring.

They separated a bit, still close enough for Alfons to feel Edward's hot breath on his face, and he drank in the sight of him. Unconsciously he shifted, trying to get Edward to _look_ at him, before he reminded himself that Edward couldn't. The thought that Edward might never focus bright gold eyes on his own again, that they might never again exchange a naughty look across a table, or feel the intensity of Edward's gaze on his back when doing even the most mundane activities, suddenly made him ache. He rubbed his face into Edward's neck (the side _far_ from the automail), closed his eyes. Edward might never again be able to pick him up and toss him across a room, and he wondered how much that helplessness was eating at his lover.

"Edward," he whispered, brushing his lips against the smooth skin at the base of his neck. A hand tangled in his hair, just as strong as he remembered, even if it was a left hand instead of a right one. They had paid the price, yet still remained together. Even if Edward never saw again, Alfons would still be by his side, reminding him to be thankful for what they _did_ have.

"Hey," Edward rumbled. "So you really meant it when you said it doesn't matter that I'm not so ta-"

Alfons groaned.

* * *

It was sort of strange, but in retrospect Alfons regretted not spending the time just talking to Edward, enjoyable though sex had been. After cleaning up, they sat together, Alfons trying to wrap around his lover as much as he could, a torrent of a thousand things he absolutely _needed_ to talk to Edward about yearning to break free. But what to start with? He was so content right now, happy to just have Edward next to him, talking about jobs and such seemed out of place.

"Mm, I was thinking," Edward said suddenly, burrowing his face into Alfons' shoulder. "We can ask the bastard what to do about the rockets thing. He's a bastard, but I bet he can tell us what would be safe. Even if he'll just want to credit it to himself, probably." Edward snorted.

"You think so?" His heart lifted, despite how he had schooled himself to deal with disappointment. "Is-" He cut himself off, hearing sounds from downstairs.

"Are they back?" Edward asked, looking surprised. "That was awfully quick."

Disappointment nearly choked Alfons. It hadn't been _nearly_ enough time! Why couldn't they have taken a bit longer, damn it? "I'll go check." Please let it not be them, please let it not be them-

There was definitely someone coming, he could hear the footsteps nearing quickly, though... they sounded sort of strange. Running, and definitely more than one pair of feet. Curious, he lay his hand on the door handle, and twisted it, opening the door to the dull black muzzle of a gun.

"Wha-"

Before he could react he was shoved face-first into a wall, a gun pressing into his back, making his recent wound scream in protest. A voice growled in his ear not to move even a muscle, emphasizing with another press of the barrel. Petrified, Alfons didn't dare protest, his mind sluggishly trying to comprehend what was going on.

"That's him!" one of the blue-clad figures behind him shouted. There were many of them, moving so quickly Alfons couldn't figure out how many, but they seemed to flood the room. He desperately wanted to turn and look, but his wound throbbed and the remembered pain of being shot held him immobile.

"Alfons?" Edward's cry choked off abruptly, and Alfons' heart stopped in his chest.

"What about-"

"Leave him! We have to get out of here!"

He would have fought back, then, pushed by desperation to try one of the moves that Edward had taught him and damn the consequences. But before he could do more than formulate that thought something hit the back of his neck hard, smashing his face into the wall. He saw stars, gasping for breath that wouldn't come, then his knees gave way and he hit the floor hard. He didn't know how long he lay there, trying to recover from the blinding agony in his head and the fire in his chest that brought tears of mingled pain and frustration to his eyes. His nose hurt, bleeding down his upper lip and smearing across his face, but wiping it away was beyond his capabilities at that point.

When he could finally see, though, he perceived one thing.

Edward was gone.


	35. Unexpected Allies

_It's exam time again... I know, it seems like I'm constantly doing exams. I feel like that also. Furthermore, the musical (yes, I'm doing another one) is eating my life. The only good news is that as a result of extensive editing to the first draft of this chapter, I ended up with a bunch of pages that will ultimately be part of the next chapter (which I will try to update as soon as I can). I really apologize for the long waits, and hope you will enjoy the chapter._

* * *

Edward was gone.

Alfons lay on the floor, struggling to breathe, unsure whether the sick twisting of his stomach was a result of pain or terror. Air wouldn't come to his lungs, and what little he managed to gasp burned like acid. His head pounded and the room spun around him, yet still he fought to obey his instinct to give chase. Someone had taken Edward, and he had to find out who, where he was taken, if he was still-

He struggled to get his hands and feet under him, breath rasping in a harsh wheeze. He had forgotten his old fear of having Edward vanish into thin air, but now his nightmares were returning full force. His hold on Edward was so fragile, so terribly tenuous, and yet the idea that their fates were entwined had grown so real to him he could never have even imagined a situation in which Edward would go where he couldn't follow. He hadn't considered that there might exist somebody with the power to take Edward away from him.

A cough was starting deep in his throat and he fought it until he no longer could, and doubled over, wracked with the spasms, causing his throat to join in on the sea of agony washing over him. He tasted blood.

_So pathetic_... he thought vaguely, wiping at his eyes. Some partner he made. He couldn't even help Edward when he really needed it.

When he licked his lips he could still faintly taste Edward on them, and his heart ached. Spurred into action again, he tried to rise to his feet on knees that felt like jelly, but could hardly perceive which direction was 'up', let alone stay upright.

Somebody was tugging at his head, then, and tipped a cup of liquid into his mouth. He swallowed instinctively and felt his throat ease, allowing him to catch his breath.

"You may have a mild concussion," Pinako's voice said, her fingers probing the back of his head, making him see stars and gasp when she touched the lump there. She helped him sit up, and after a few moments he could see once more, and the room was spinning a bit less.

"I have to go after them," he managed, remembering Edward's last choked-off cry of his name. Who knew what they might be doing with him? And Edward, blind, incapable of doing alchemy, would be at their complete mercy.

"You can barely walk, and you want to chase after armed soldiers?"

Why wasn't she frantic? Adrenaline raged through him, demanding an outlet; at that moment he felt like he could do _anything_, if it meant getting Edward back.

She must have seen the look on his face, because she said quietly, "There is nothing we can do. Have faith. That boy has been getting himself in and out of worse trouble since he was eleven."

"There has to be _something_ we can do!" he said, pushing her hands away, trying to rise to his feet again. "We can call-"

"The lines are down."

"How far is it to town?"

"Farther than you can walk, and we don't have a horse."

Leaning heavily on the wall he managed to drag himself to his feet, and practically shouted, "_How can you be so calm_?"

She looked aside, and suddenly her wrinkled face looked worn and hopeless. "Because when you reach my age, you will learn that there are limitations you can't overcome."

The wall was solid against his back, and he tilted his head until the back of it thumped the wood lightly. He stared at the ceiling, but all he could see was Edward's face. If only he had been quicker, if only he hadn't insisted on distracting Edward when a few crucial seconds might have saved him, if only, if only....

"Let's wait downstairs," she said. "Maybe we will be lucky enough to see somebody passing by who we can tell."

Going down the stairs was a painstaking and slow process. Her - old and stiff with age, him – young but weak, equally deliberate in his movements. That trek more than anything she said convinced him that he really _wasn't_ in any shape to chase after Edward's captors. He was lightheaded by the time they reached the bottom floor of the house, his chest still aching terribly, and he was forced to sit down and rest. In this state he hadn't a hope of being any use, and he hated himself – his pathetic, sickly body which failed him constantly, and his will which wasn't strong enough to force him on despite his weaknesses. Sometimes he wondered what Edward saw in him at all.

So they sat, and waited. Watched the windows, Alfons straining his eyes for the slightest sign of human life. It was better than doing nothing or pacing, which made him dizzy and achy.

Horrible images flashed through his mind of what might be happening to Edward, everything from death to torture. Occasionally he felt Pinako's eyes on him, and was fairly sure he didn't imagine the compassion in them. He wanted to talk about Edward, wanted desperately to blurt out to _somebody_ how much Edward meant to him, wanted to hear a voice comforting him that everything would be okay, that Edward would be back, safe and sound.

But he couldn't speak, because he still didn't know what _she_ knew, didn't know how Edward would feel about him spilling the beans, was too used to hiding his feelings to be able to express them coherently to a third party.

An hour passed, then another. Every so often he saw her open her mouth, as if to tell him to stop fidgeting already, but each time she remained silent.

"Maybe Al will be able to do something when he returns," he ventured. Edward's safety was far more important to him than scoring imaginary points against a rival for his lover's attention.

"We can hope," Pinako said. "Would you like some tea?"

Alfons shook his head. He was too queasy to want anything. Instead, he chewed his fingernails, something he had never been tempted to do in the past, and resolutely mussed his hair, running his fingers through it repetitively.

"Actually yes," he blurted.

She made him tea, though he could have done it himself, and was generous with the sugar from their nearly depleted stores. The first gulp was ill-considered, and scalded his tongue and throat. He cradled the hot mug in his hands, waiting for it to cool, and contemplated the dark sludge of tea leaves at the bottom.

"I'm sure everything will be okay." Pinako's words were slightly stiff, as if she was unused to mouthing platitudes. He knew the words were empty, only meant for his comfort, but they helped. Just a little bit.

"He _has_ to be okay," Alfons said in a small voice. He took a small sip of tea, which burned on his hurt tongue.

When the tea was gone he returned to his vigil at the window, hoping, praying, his mind cycling once more through all the what ifs and could have beens.

* * *

In the late afternoon sun the snow was no longer brilliant white, but dulling to blue, endless hummocks and irregularities manifesting as deep shadows. Al sat silently on the wooden platform as it raced along the tracks, propelled manually by men pumping wide handles up and down, moving quickly back towards Resembool.

He felt no inclination to participate in their cheerful singing, his thoughts racing forward to where Ed was waiting. He chafed at every moment he was forced to spend away from his brother, irrationally unhappy by all the time Ed had got to spend in _his_ presence.

The men had praised him endlessly for how speedily he had cleared the snow, how efficiently he worked. Though normally Al would have been pleased at the praise, today it gave him no satisfaction. He cleared snow as quickly as he could because the longer it took, the longer he would have to spend away from his brother.

The houses of Resembool came into view, deceptively close with the snow masking the landmarks. Nonetheless they made good time, and within fifteen minutes they were pulling into the depot amid cheers.

A small train waited at the station, already half loaded, waiting to leave the moment they announced the rails were clear. Uninterested in the activity, Al turned to leave when somebody called his name.

"Al!"

It was Winry, still bundled up against the cold, but flushed with activity, a wrench clutched in her hands. He waited.

"They roped me into fixing up a stuck piston," she said. "I should be done here in a few minutes, then we can head back together."

"But Ed..." he began, annoyance coloring his tone.

"Ed is going to be _fine_," Winry said, rolling her eyes. "For goodness' sake, Al, five more minutes won't make any difference!"

"Fine," he said, not bothering to conceal his frustration. Hurt flashed across her face, but vanished quickly. He told himself that in the long run, watching over Ed was more important. If only Winry could _understand _that. After so many years Ed had been gone, how could she tolerate being separated from him again?

He stalked over to one of the benches on the platform, and sat idly watching the soldiers load the train. There were ten or so of them, and most of their cargo consisted of their personal packs – light because of necessity. Al knew from experience what it was like to travel with the minimum of belongings. On their upper arms were colored bands designating their loyalty – in this case, stripes of green and white. Not Parliament, then, but he wasn't quite sure who they were affiliated with. Mustang would probably know.

Alongside their pile of equipment was a massive wooden crate, soundly padlocked shut, which seemed to be quite heavy considering the straining and grunting involved in getting it on the train.

Al wondered idly what was in it, then sighed mightily, the air puffing out in white clouds. How long did it take Winry to fix whatever-it-was, anyway? He wanted to get _home_, already. A strange urgency ate at him, worry which refused to be calmed despite the fact that he knew it was unfounded.

Now Winry was talking to the stationmaster, cracking jokes by the looks of things. Al kicked his heels against the bench, glowering.

_Finally_ people stepped back from the train. The whistle blew, voices called, and smoke started belching from the stack. He wondered, for a moment, what it would be like to be so easily content – to have a life where the prospect of a train returning loaded with supplies was reason enough to cheer. All that train was doing was taking the soldiers away (admittedly, a reason to be pleased), along with one of the migrant workers who had apparently decided to move on, and yet....

He had been capable of cheering like that, once. Years ago, when he and Ed had been learning alchemy together, every small achievement had seemed like a great leap forward. But they hadn't really been content, even then. First they had done alchemy to cheer up their mother, and once she died nothing had ever been the same. Ed hadn't been content since, and how could Al truly be happy when his brother so obviously wasn't?

Fear rose, the same fear he kept on trying to stifle, born the moment he had seen his brother brushing Alfons' hair away from his face.

If Ed was content, it meant he could be, as well. But he was afraid he no longer knew how, and that meant that Ed had changed without him, gone somewhere he couldn't understand....

Unnerved by his thoughts, he did his best to shove them out of his mind, and looked for Winry again. She was coming towards him now, providing a welcome distraction.

"You done?" he asked, when Winry was again within speaking range. He stood up and pulled his – Edward's – coat tighter around himself.

She nodded and sighed, looking a bit reproachful.

"Good," he said, ignoring her disapproval. She had been disapproving of him for so long he was used to it, hardly knew what else to expect from her. "Then let's get going."

Winry walked silently beside him for a bit before she spoke.

"Al, can't you give it a rest? You were right, and things have worked out now. Ed's back. Won't you let go of your grudge?"

"I don't have a grudge," Al said automatically. Grudge was too simple a word to explain how they had betrayed his trust, again and again, and more importantly – betrayed Ed.

"Really," said Winry, the softness of her voice communicating skepticism. Al hunched his shoulders and walked faster.

"Nobody's going to take him away from you." Winry was striding quickly to keep up with him, refusing to be left behind – or to let go.

There were a thousand answers he could give to that statement, starting from the fact that he wasn't afraid of them stealing Ed away from him (although, at the same time he was), and ending with his fear that if the situation had been reversed, _he_ would have been the one forgotten by the wayside, couldn't she understand that?

"We're all each other has," he said instead, staring off into the distance, eyes already straining to catch sight of the smoke from the Rockbells'.

"That doesn't have to be true," Winry said.

He didn't answer, her words awakening a wash of anger inside him. Of _course _it was true. The years Al had spent struggling on his own to find Ed and return him were proof enough of that. And maybe... no, there was no 'maybe' about it, Ed would _never_ look at him the way they did. Even if he had lost a few years off his life, Ed wouldn't cut him off, treat him like he was somebody completely different. Ed wouldn't grow up without him and leave him alone. He _couldn't_.

"You would have left him there," he said tightly. "If I hadn't brought him back, he could have been stuck in that other world for the rest of his life." Ed was the only one who would stand by his side no matter what. He stopped and turned around to glare at her, meeting her eyes unflinchingly.

"Not everybody has the strength to fight for the impossible and win." She wasn't backing down either, and that lack of guilt drove Al crazy. If Al felt such crushing pain over taking so long to find Ed, four entire years, how could the guilt of _not trying at all _not be tearing her apart?

"You gave up on him!" he snarled.

"All the evidence pointed to his death. You know as well as I do that people don't come back from the dead. How can you blame me for trying to move on?"

"But he wasn't dead!" _That_ was the crucial difference.

"How were we-"

"Al! Winry!"

The breathy voice distracted them, and they turned to see Alfons slogging painfully towards them through the snow. He was clutching his side, obviously in pain, but unwilling to stop.

"Alfons!" Winry scolded immediately, going towards him. "What were you thinking? You're in no state to-"

"They took Edward," Alfons gasped out. "Soldiers – they broke into the house – you have to go after them –"

_They took Edward_. The words reverberated in his mind as he stood frozen, unable to hear what else Alfons was saying, unable to even think. He had left Ed alone, and now Ed was _gone_.

Again.

Again the _not knowing_, wondering why, where, would he ever return – he couldn't stand it. Not again.

He opened his mouth to speak, and the first words that burst out were angered, cutting, attempting to shunt the pain onto somebody else. "And you _let them_?"

"Al!" Winry gasped, but Al only had eyes for his double.

"What was I supposed to do?" Alfons snarled, but Al could see in his eyes that his words had hit home.

"You were supposed to protect him!" Only when the words left his mouth did he realize that he had, in fact, expected Alfons to protect his brother in his absence. He might detest this double of his, but unlike everybody else, Alfons had never betrayed Ed.

"How?" Alfons said bitterly. "I can't fight soldiers with guns."

"I know," Al responded, pushing past the two of them and heading towards the house. "Because you're useless." Both of them were, but at least Al had the tiniest excuse this time... at least he hadn't _been_ there, watched the whole thing happen in front of his eyes, yet emerged with no memory of it and no clue as to what had happened to his brother.

The box. The damned box which had seemed so innocent, yet now Al wondered if it hadn't been just the right size to fit a person (small-statured, admittedly) into. It had been so close Al practically remembered the grain of the wood, the scratches on the dull metal padlock, and if only he had thought to question what they were taking out of Resembool, what was certainly by now kilometers away....

If only Alfons had _told him_ before it was too late! Al whirled around, naked fury on his face, and saw a hint of his expression mirrored on Alfons'.

How _dare_ he speak like that? How dare he imply that this was somehow Al's fault?

"Why are the two of you just standing there at a time like this?" Winry bellowed, finally catching their attention. "Let's get inside, talk to Grandma, and see what we can do."

Al turned his back and practically ran the rest of the way to the Rockbells', leaving the slow Alfons behind, and Winry to help him along.

He was furious, still, but now at himself. Bickering childishly when there were far more important things at hand... Ed would be so disappointed in him if he ever heard of this.

Inside, Granny told the whole story, and Al realized the enormity of what had happened. At this point, that train could be _anywhere, _not even taking into account the possibility that they had gotten off somewhere and headed cross country.

There was no question in his mind that they had to find Ed, and his mind whirled with possibilities. He watched Alfons, who seemed to be taking it harder than anybody else, and well he should. Alfons couldn't do _anything_ right. Al watched silently as he escaped to his room after a while, probably to brood in peace. He snorted in derision. Alfons wasn't even capable of helping formulate a plan to follow the train.

But that was the crux of the issue, wasn't it? They _couldn't_ follow the train. It had too much of a head start on them, and no alchemy he knew was capable of getting them anywhere faster than a speeding train. He might as well wish he could grow wings and fly.

Al paused, the idea suddenly hitting him full force. How many times had Ed told them about the flying machines of Alfons' world? And here was Alfons, supposedly a specialist in such machines....

Without excusing himself he pushed away from the sofa and practically ran upstairs. Nobody followed him, though he felt their eyes on his back.

The utter simplicity of his solution astounded him. Building a flying machine and flying it couldn't be that difficult (Alfons was apparently capable of it, after all), once alchemy was involved.

He pushed open the door to their room to find Alfons lying on the bed, his face buried in the pillow. Al felt a moment of disgust before he realized that his double wasn't crying or something pathetic like that, but was just lying there. Which was pathetic as well, but not as embarrassing. He cleared his throat.

Alfons sat up sharply, winced, and sighed when he saw who it was. "What do you want?" he asked tiredly.

"I think I know a way to follow the train," Al said, coming to stand in front of him. "I need your help." For Ed's sake, he would even cooperate with Alfons.

That got Alfons' attention, and he sat up straighter, fixing Al with a sharp gaze.

This was perfect, Al realized. Since Alfons had very little concept of alchemy, he would have no idea that what Al was proposing was irregular or dangerous.

"You can build flying machines, right? Aeroplanes?"

Alfons nodded. "But following Edward in one wouldn't be a good idea. They're difficult to pilot, and we'd need to worry about taking off and landing."

"What if we build a small one and pilot it with alchemy?" Al suggested, quickly rallying from his initial surprise at how quickly Alfons had followed his train of thought. "I know a kind of alchemy that allows me to control objects from a distance."

Alfons' eyes were alight, and Al was surprised to find himself pleased with the reaction. He was so unused to his ideas being greeted with enthusiasm. Normally all he heard was a litany of why they were unrealistic, rash, and ill-conceived, ad nauseam.

"You can't tell Winry and the others about this, though," he cautioned. "Otherwise they'll try to stop us."

"Is it dangerous?" The spark dimmed a bit, Alfons suddenly looking wary.

"No," Al said quickly, as firmly as he could. "But it's a secret. Promise?"

He held his breath as Alfons pondered, biting his lower lip a bit, blue eyes intense. This was a risk, a terribly big one, but Al had to believe he had judged right. Alfons was some sort of parallel of himself; as such, he would stand by Ed. He _had_ to.

Coming to a decision, Alfons nodded curtly, and some of the tension seeped out of Al. They could do this.

They moved quickly, then, pulling out pens and papers, and Alfons immediately started sketching an outline. It was vaguely cylindrical, with wings on the sides, and a propeller in front. Grudging respect filled him as he saw how efficiently Alfons drew, the crisp lines that shaped the components of the aeroplane as he explained how the different parts worked together. He might not be an alchemist, but he knew his stuff, and the simplicity of the model fascinated Al despite the urgency of the situation. Now was not the time to ask questions, though. Ed needed them.

Once he thought he had a pretty good grasp on the idea the two of them sneaked downstairs together to where Winry kept her scrap metal, to transmute the machine itself.

Al assembled a small pile, and, keeping his eyes on the diagram, prepared to transmute. Alfons looked away studiously.

"What's wrong?" he asked. "Scared?"

"No," Alfons said curtly, still not looking at him. "I promised Edward I wouldn't look."

Weird. "Look at what?"

"Alchemy," Alfons answered. "He's going to show me, when he can do it again."

"It's just alchemy..." Al muttered, looking from his double to the pile of scrap metal on the floor in bewilderment. Deciding he probably wouldn't be able to follow his thought processes anyway, Al shrugged, clapped his hands together, and touched the metal.

Getting the design right took several tries, and after each one he had to wait for Alfons to come check, make corrections, and then look away while he implemented them. Overall very annoying, and wasting precious minutes. Finally they reached a point where Alfons pronounced the craft flightworthy, at least as far as he could see. As a finishing touch, Al transmuted two glass 'eyes' to the bottom of it. Receiving visual input when his soul was in an object with no eyes was possible, but he always ended up wasting a lot of time trying to make sense of it all. Having 'eyes' to focus on would speed up the process.

"While I'm flying this thing, I need you to keep watch over my body," Al instructed, after they sneaked had gone back upstairs. "Put the aeroplane out in the snow so I can take off, and then come back here, okay?"

"What do you mean, 'watch over your body'?" Alfons asked nervously, suddenly looking like he might have second thoughts.

"I can't fly it _and_ concentrate on walking around and stuff at the same time." Al did his best to modulate his tone, but it still came out condescending. He sat down on the bed and clapped his hands together, then held them out for the aeroplane. Alfons handed it to him, and the last thing he heard was his double muttering something about witchcraft.

Then his entire attention was focused on the aircraft – and then he _was_ the machine, trying to figure out how to make the propeller rotate and the flaps in the wings move the way they were supposed to. Perspective changed around him, and he knew he was in Alfons' hands, though he couldn't feel them.

"This is so creepy," Alfons muttered from somewhere above him, and Al decided to desist for the time being.

He was placed on the snow, light enough not to break the crust, as Alfons had promised, and started spinning his wheels and propeller, shifting the wings the way Alfons had explained – feeling strange, because all he could see was the white snow beneath him – which suddenly dropped away dizzyingly.

He was flying, Al knew, and felt a moment of wild euphoria. The world spread beneath him in a glittering panorama, houses and trees suddenly taking on strange shapes. He thought he recognized Alfons, standing on the back porch for a moment before running inside – and immediately remembered the urgency.

He had to find Edward.

He turned midair, drawing a wide arc that brought him around facing the village as he scanned the ground for anything that looked like train tracks. There – he curved to follow them, sketching a strange zigzag path through the air as he constantly overestimated how far he had to turn.

The sun was behind him, assuring him that he was going in the right direction – north, away from Resembool. But where was the train? The tracks snaked up and down, skirted hills, went through another town – and still no sign of the train. Surely they couldn't have gotten this far?

Still, Al flew onward desperately, already starting to feel the connection floundering. He had never tried sustaining his alchemy for so long, or at such a distance.

A black smudge was trailing along the tracks beneath him, and there, just ahead – a tiny train, barely two cars, easily recognizable as the one that had left Resembool.

But where were they? They were definitely still in the East area.... He flew further, seeing the smudge of a town up ahead.

Second large town north of Resembool... large population, to be this visible.... The world dipped, the ground coming closer, and he jerked awake back in his bed, the sudden input of his senses almost overwhelming.

"Zirone," he said, remembering how to use his tongue and vocal chords.

"What?" said Alfons, looking completely unnerved.

"We have to hurry, I know where they are now," Al said, sitting up and throwing his legs off the end of the bed. Dizziness assailed him, for a moment, and he pressed a hand to his temple. He couldn't wait any longer, though. Shoving to his feet, he hurried towards the door.

"Wait, where are you going?" Alfons followed him out of the room. "Can we catch them?"

"_We_ can't," said Al grimly. "But maybe Mustang can."

Downstairs they found the three women flocked around the kitchen table, Winry working furiously with a wrench on their radio. What they were up to was immediately obvious, and Al felt a strange, wild hope within him.

They hadn't given up on Ed, this time. They hadn't decided he was dead, consigned him to the earth, and called it a day. If they stood by him, did that mean....?

"Here, let me," he offered, stepping up and with one transmutation completed the transformation of their receiver into a two-way radio.

"I told you we should ask him," said Rose quietly. Winry shrugged. They _should_ have asked him, Al thought unhappily. Didn't they know that if it was for Ed, he would do anything?

"I want to talk," Al said. Nobody seemed inclined to argue, so he took the microphone, while Winry started fiddling with the knobs and dials.

"Start talking, call him," Winry instructed. "We should find the right channel at some point."

Everybody stood around, tense and silent, listening to the crackle of the channels, Al's voice thin and lonely as he repeated "Colonel Mustang? Are you there? Colonel Mustang?" over and over.

"I don't understand," Alfons whispered to Rose. "Why would Mustang be listening to the radio right now?"

"With the mess the country is, all the different factions have their own listening posts. It's an important way to transmit information, so there is actually a good chance of Mustang or one of his allies answering us," Rose answered softly.

"Shhh!" said Winry.

"Who is this?" Another voice suddenly answered, making everybody jump.

"Give me Mustang," said Al urgently.

"I need to know who this is," the voice said, crackling through the speakers.

Al opened his mouth to say, but Winry shook her head frantically. "You don't know who that is!" she hissed.

"It's urgent!" Al said instead.

"I'll transfer you to him the moment you identify yourself," the voice answered sharply. Winry cut the connection.

"We'll keep trying," she said shakily. She shouldn't have done that, Al thought, because maybe that voice _had_ been help, but at the same time, who knew who was at the other side?

Better keep trying.

An interminable amount of time later, and after several more short conversations with people who were most definitely _not_ Mustang, they finally got a voice who, when asked for the colonel, hesitated.

"Do you have identification?"

"I have to talk to him!" Al said tiredly, hardly daring hope.

"Hold on," crackled out through the speakers, and everybody exchanged a hopeful look. Al's heart was pounding so hard he could barely breathe.

"What is the meaning of this?"

Relieved smiles all around, and Al practically whooped in delight. He would recognize that voice anywhere.

"It's Alphonse Elric!" he nearly shouted into the microphone.

"What?" said Mustang. "What do you think you're-"

"Ed's been kidnapped!" he blurted.

"Wait!" said Alfons, but Al ignored him, too focused on his message.

"They're on a train, heading north, half an hour ago they hadn't reached Zirone yet!"

Silence, crackling over the lines, then Mustang's voice, tight.

"This is not a secure line," he said bluntly.

"Shit," said Alfons quietly. It took the meaning several moments to penetrate, and when it did, Al's heart plummeted faster than he would have ever believed possible.

"Right now, all of Amestris knows where your brother is. Heaven help us." And Mustang cut the connection.

* * *

He awoke with a cramp in his neck, suffocating. The pitch blackness when he opened his eyes no longer surprised him, but the walls pressing in on him – hard against the top of his head, back, knees – were definitely not familiar. He was lying on his right side, curled up in a way which had his back and neck cramping, and the muscles in his legs protesting. An attempt to straighten out proved futile; there simply wasn't enough room for him to unfold his legs. Only when he tried to spit out the fabric keeping him from breathing properly did he realize it was, in fact, a gag – disgustingly clammy, and already soaked with saliva. The strain in his arms was because they were both chained behind him, with heavy metal chain intended to keep him from breaking it with his automail. It dug unpleasantly into his side where he was forced to lie on it, and no amount of shifting managed to ease his weight off it.

The idiots, they had chained his hands behind his back, all he had to do was clap, and -

Unfamiliar terror stirred his stomach, and he jerked wildly against his bonds. No alchemy. There was absolutely nothing he could do. Knowledge of his own helplessness swam through his mind, making his breath snag to the point he was lightheaded from lack of oxygen. Who had done this? Why? He didn't even know where to start wondering. How could he fight back if he didn't even know what he was up against, deprived of his main weapon?

_Alfons_. What if they had him, too? Alfons was _hurt_, if they had drugged him and shoved him in a box (don't think about how it's like a coffin, don't think don't think-) it could make his wounds _worse_... Alfons wasn't used to being thrown around, Ed always had to hold back lest he injure him....

Shit. He had barely gotten used to the idea that Alfons was amazingly, gloriously somehow still alive, and now this. Could Alfons be in another box, somewhere beyond the pitch blackness? But then, what the hell could whoever-it-was possibly want with him?

He wished, desperately, that he had asked Al to look out for Alfons for him. He hadn't considered that something might happen to him, and if Alfons was left alone, what would he do? Al could take care of himself, could kick _anybody_'s ass, but Alfons was vulnerable.

Obviously, he was their primary target. If they had hurt Alfons while trying to get through to him.... He swallowed, feeling guilt rise like bile in his throat. He would never forgive himself.

Feeling utterly wretched, he closed his eyes in the darkness, and felt his entire body slump against the chains. The pain didn't bother him. He could only hope Alfons wasn't going through something similar.

Surely Al would be coming after them. Knowing that Al was probably even now following his trail made him smile, against his will. When Al caught up with them, those thugs wouldn't know what had hit them-

A loud screech interrupted his thoughts, and he was abruptly thrown against the side of the box. Holy fuck, that _hurt_. When he had collected his thoughts as much as he could, he realized that there was a strange silence around him, a lack of -

- rails. The steady clacking of a train on tracks was so familiar to him he had edited the sound out entirely. He was on a train, and obviously it had stopped now, unexpectedly, for some reason.

He strained his ears, trying to figure out what was going on. Over the sound of his pulse pounding in his ears and the ragged _whuff_ of his breath, he could make out an arrhythmic popping.

Gunshots.

Ed shifted, trying to calm the frantic beating of his heart. If there was anything he disliked more than the abstract notion of guns, it was being surrounded by gunshots while locked in a fucking _box_, helpless. Was Amestris at war? Oh shit, if he had brought Alfons to the middle of a war zone... but nobody had said anything to that effect. Surely either Winry or Rose would have told him something so important.

Shouting, more gunshots. The words he could vaguely make out sounded like Amestrian, so it probably wasn't an invasion.

The thought of a civil war wasn't much more comforting.

Ed strained vainly to see, twisting in his bonds. A new, half-formed idea occurred to him: if something had happened this could be his chance to escape...

Or not, really. He stopped moving, knowing it was futile. Even if he could get free, there was nowhere for him to go. Wandering around in the snow alone didn't promise him greater chances of surviving than being locked in this box.

Fuck, he _hated_ the blindness.

Voices neared, shouting unintelligible words. The entire box suddenly jerked, throwing him against the side. _Watch it, assholes_, he thought venomously. Now they were pounding on it, and he felt apprehension rising. He wasn't used to being captive in a situation where he had absolutely _no_ weapons, nothing to help himself with. There was a great _crack_, and he felt splinters showering down, heard cries of victory.

"It's really him! We got him!"

Friend? Foe? He knew what he hoped for, but it seemed like too great a coincidence. How...? Was he just going to be a bargaining chip?

Hands grabbed him, dragging him upright. He tried to snarl and jerk away, the instinctive reaction having nothing to do with the commands of his conscious mind.

"Easy!" a low female voice told him. "We're here to help you."

He wanted to believe them, but what proof did he have?

"They sure locked him up tight," another voice said, hoarse and male. "Anybody found a key or something?"

He forced himself not to flinch when his head was tilted forward and fingers fumbled at the knots of his gag. Finally it came free. He swallowed convulsively, working his jaw a bit to ease the strain, and did his best to wipe his face on his shoulder. Fucking disgusting.

"No key. What do we do?"

"We can shoot it off," somebody suggested, an idea which Ed found profoundly unappealing.

"I don't like that option," he said, his voice hoarser than he had expected. There was momentary silence at his words, then soft murmuring he couldn't make out. He could still hear gunshots, somewhere outside, and turned his head towards them. Fuck, it was cold. If he had known he was going to be kidnapped he would have put on more than a light sweater.

"Don't worry!" somebody said cheerfully. "I'm a crack shot. At most some shards will hit your automail."

He still wasn't sure this was a good idea, but he was already being pushed over, and flailing around in panic wouldn't do much in the way of making an impression. Cold, hard wood against his cheek, and somebody was fumbling with the chain – a gunshot, the loud report making his heart skip – but then the heavy metal fell loose around him. The relief he felt at that was so intense it left him nearly breathless.

"We have to get out of here," the girl said, sounding urgent this time. "If you're ready, Fullmetal, we can get going."

He massaged his human wrist, stretched just a bit, and wished he had shoes. "Is there anybody else here?" he asked urgently. They should have found Alfons as easily as they found him, unless Alfons was somewhere else on the train, or (hopefully! Oh god, please-) not captured at all.

"Just our squad, and those ANP bastards we're killing," she answered.

"I mean, another captive," Ed said. "Was anybody else captured with me?"

"Not that we know of."

He nearly sagged with the sudden release of tension. They hadn't gotten Alfons, at least. He would believe that even now, Alfons was in Resembool, safe and sound. Suddenly his fate seemed less terrifying; no matter what they did to him, he knew that Al and Alfons would remain unharmed.

"Now please, come with me quickly! The area isn't secure."

Still, he hesitated. "Who the hell are you people? Who are the ones that had me before?"

He wasn't stalling, wasn't delaying the moment when he would have to step out into the unknown blindly. He was just... trying to figure out what was going on, because somebody swooping in to rescue him seemed just a little _too_ convenient. But they were observing niceties, already a point in their favor. It occurred to him suddenly that they probably didn't know he had lost his alchemy, were maybe even afraid of him. But if they meant him harm, why would they have untied him?

"Colonel Caro's 3rd division, western squad," some guy said smartly. How many people were hanging around here, anyway? "Part of the UAA."

Whatever the hell that meant. It was an answer, of sorts, but it meant fuck-all to him right now. They had freed him, though, and seemed inclined to provide explanations, so he'd be inclined to trust them. He would _have_ to trust them. It wasn't like he had much of a choice, and that rankled.

He took an unsteady step forward. "Where are we headed?" His heart was thrumming in his throat, pulsing in his temples. He hated, _hated_ this.

"We had to collapse some trees across the tracks in order to get the train to stop. Ideally, we'd want to continue on the rails, if you'd help us clear them."

Shit. "I can't," he said hollowly, and could practically _feel_ the confusion radiating from them.

"We're trying to help you!" one of the men said, sounding young, and betrayed. "I thought you were... they say you..."

"I can't do alchemy," he said. That admission felt like he had torn something deep inside him. It wasn't temporary, it wasn't a 'phase'. He couldn't do alchemy. He had achieved some of the greatest alchemical breakthroughs of the century, and paid the price. "I'm burnt out."

A hollow silence followed, intensifying to the point where Ed could hardly bear it. Why wasn't anybody _saying_ anything?

"Cross-country, then," somebody decided, evidently a leader of some sort. His voice was loud, falsely hearty. "Let's head out. Fullmetal, grab some boots and a coat from somebody." At least he hadn't said anything about Ed's handicap.

He tottered forward a few steps, hoping vainly that he would suddenly gain arcane understanding of where an enemy soldier was lying (oh god, robbing a corpse. Though he couldn't see it, his mind was happy to supply him with vivid, horrible images of malformed bodies, twisted, leaking blood and fluid---). Needless to say, it didn't happen; the blackness around him remained (thankfully) impenetrable. Better get this over with.

"I'm blind," he said, his voice sounding strange to his own ears. Weak and hopeless.

There was a stunned silence after his words, worse than the first, the kind that made him want to inch away or sink into the floor with shame. He could imagine their looks of pity, of disgust, well enough. Imagine the shock at realizing that the Fullmetal Alchemist was worse than useless.

Reminded him of walking into a bar in London and hearing murmurs of '_crazy_' behind his back, of how it had been no different in Germany. With a painful twist of his heart he remembered what it had been like the first time somebody, _Alfons,_ had met his eyes and believed him. Foolishly, he had thought that with Alfons, what others thought wouldn't matter anymore, and once they got home it would be different. Amestris wasn't supposed to be like this.

"Well," the voice-in-charge said, sounding momentarily nonplussed. "Jim, get him some shoes. Brian, stay close to Fullmetal and help him out. Everybody else, secure a perimeter. Move!"

Sounds of rapid movement around him, but all Ed could do was stand there and wait for-

"Here." Somebody – either Jim or Brian – was pressing a pair of shoes into his hands. Awkwardly, Ed knelt and pulled them on, cursing when he fumbled the laces in his freezing fingers.

"Ready?" There was a soft touch on his shoulder.

Ed stood up, grimacing at the too-large shoes. "Yeah," he said. "Which one are you?"

"Brian." He sounded amused. "Now let's get out of here."

Within two steps Ed had nearly stumbled again, but Brian caught him.

"Door's this way."

He followed the voice, trying to keep his attention on everything at once: keeping his balance, trying to move as fast as he could, following the sound of his voice. Another step, and suddenly his foot was in the air with nothing underneath it, a blast of freezing wind in his face. He flailed, trying desperately to grab hold of something. His automail fingers banged against something, but lacking tactile input, didn't register soon enough.

"Watch-"

A faceful of snow cut off whatever Brian was saying. Embarrassed and a bit bruised, he pushed himself to his knees, gathering his limbs from their sprawl.

"Shit, I'm sorry, I forgot to warn you, I was checking to make sure the way was clear-" Hands were patting him down, trying to brush snow off his clothes (not that there was much point, he could already feel where the wetness had seeped beneath them).

"Jerkass," he snapped. "I _told_ you I can't see anything." He allowed himself to be helped to his feet, and set off again, ignoring the apologies.

Brian seemed to want to move fast, a task that was even more difficult for Ed. He had never noticed how damned uneven the ground could be, before. Every hummock and fallen branch in the area seemed to find their way under his feet.

An undercurrent of thought ran through his mind incessantly, trying to understand what was happening. If these people were truly on his side, why didn't they want to return him to Resembool? Had he exchanged one type of captivity for another?

He opened his mouth to ask, but Brian (he was now easily recognizing his voice – it had a dense sort of quality, like the way it felt to transmute bedrock) shushed him.

"It's not safe to talk right now. We should reach camp soon."

So Ed kept walking. Repetition gave him a measure of confidence, and now he was striding along faster, his flesh hand securely fisted in Brian's clothes, to help right himself when he (inevitably) stumbled. Now he had the peace of mind to worry again, to feel how the automail dragged at muscles unused to bearing its weight, to notice the increasingly urgent call of nature.

Every so often he heard gunshots in the distance, making him flinch instinctively in reaction. The first time, Brian had tried to say something reassuring about being protected by the rest of the team, but Ed had snarled at him to shut up. He didn't need to be coddled.

-

Half catatonic with exhaustion, he hardly registered that they had stopped until somebody shook him.

"Fullmetal? Are you okay? We're going to stop for the night, now."

Damn, it was already night? It had been hours since his kidnap, Alfons must be frantic with worry by now.

"Yeah," he said tiredly. He allowed Brian to talk him over a few fallen branches and into the camp perimeter, where he got a nice boulder all to himself.

"Here." It was a different voice, young and fuzzy-sounding, and a bowl of something hot was pressed into his hands. Curling his fingers around it was almost painful, so stiff and cold were they.

"Thanks," he mumbled, taking a few sips. The warmth shot through him, curling in his belly, and he started shivering. It was as if now that he remembered what being warm was like, his body remembered that it was actually quite cold.

Worse than that was the paranoia. He couldn't shake the constant feeling of being watched – tried to suppress his shivers, so they wouldn't see his weakness. Drank the soup carefully, to avoid spilling or anything embarrassing like that. Even when he went to the latrine the back of his neck crawled with the thought of somebody spying on him, though logically he knew nobody had any reason to want to watch him take a piss.

He stumbled back towards the camp, following the sound of their murmuring voices – and he wasn't imagining it, whenever he came close the conversation died down.

It seemed he was still a captive, only this time bound only by his own disabilities. In possession of his full faculties, they would never have been able to hold him. He wished suddenly, violently, that he was still in Alfons' world. At least there he had been able to fight for a modicum of respect.

Almost immediately, though, he felt guilty for even considering trading Al for something like that. Al was safe; he should be content with that. He was reunited with Al, he had Alfons-

Fuck. His heart twisted at the thought of Alfons. He wanted so badly to tell himself that Alfons was happy, but really, how could he be? Ed couldn't _do_ anything for him.

Alfons had loved him despite his missing limbs, but now he was blind and –

Distraction. He sat down on the first log he found, scuffing his feet aimlessly through the snow. The silence around him was unnerving, and he scowled.

"Is something wrong?" a voice asked.

He spent a split second wondering if they were addressing him, but decided he was too annoyed to care. "The hell something is!" he snarled. "How long are you planning on keeping me captive here?"

Immediately a chorus of horrified rebuttals sounded around him, until the voice-in-charge shushed them. Once again he wondered just how many people he was up against.

"You're not our captive," he said. "We'd much prefer you to think of us as your escort."

"Then why don't you let me go home?" Ed wasn't buying it for a minute. Escort, his ass.

"Resembool isn't safe for you," he explained. "Especially now that we've received communications that pretty much _everybody_ knows you're back."

Ed clenched his fists, to cover up how shaken he was. "What the hell is going on here? Why is everybody after me?"

"Because of Lior," the voice-in-charge said, as if it were completely obvious.

"I wasn't responsible for that!" Ed nearly shouted, his voice cracking. No way. He thought – yeah, the Fuhrer had blamed him for it or something like that, but there's no way people really, actually still believed it? "I tried to block the transmutation – I tried to warn Mustang – "

Oh god, what had he dragged Alfons into?

"That was years ago!" he finally managed, shaken. He had forgotten. In his dreams of Amestris he had always thought of the pleasant skies above Resembool, the wide streets of Central, musty libraries full of alchemy tomes, endless train rides. Somehow, he thought nothing would ever change, that time stood still when he was gone.

And now here he was, thrown into the middle of a years-old intrigue, and him incapable of even doing any alchemy....

"I knew it," somebody spoke softly, then with growing enthusiasm, the voice sounding like Jim from the train. "I knew it! Didn't I tell you guys it was a frame?"

As if the words had released floodgates, Ed was suddenly surrounded by excited chattering.

"As if the Fullmetal Alchemist would ever have taken part in a massacre!"

"Those bastards – all these years, calling him a murderer-"

"They'll have to back down now, we'll be able to prove his innocence once and for all!"

What the hell. Ed's mind was spinning, trying to make sense of it all. These people were on his side? He felt a tiny rush of pleasure, the same thrill he had gotten every time he entered some town in the middle of nowhere, to hear people talking admiringly of his escapades.

Suddenly he found himself bombarded with eager questions from all sides.

"Fullmetal, where were you? Why did you vanish?"

"Was it those Old Regime bastards?"

"Were you captured by the Drachmans?"

"I heard that you ran away to Xing! Is that true?"

"Is that why you can't do alchemy?"

"I-" he began uncertainly into the cacophony, and was a little unnerved at the immediate, expectant hush. "I was..." -_trapped in a parallel universe._ Bad idea. "Lost," he said. "Very far away – and no, it had nothing to do with the military or the Drachmans or anybody."

"But the alchemy?" somebody said hesitantly, as if afraid to interrupt. "I heard the military used to do experiments on people-"

"Hell, no," Ed cut in, shuddering at the thought. "It's just burnout. It happens sometimes." Since it didn't seem anybody around was an alchemist, he decided to elaborate. "If you try to do alchemy that's too powerful or complicated for you, you can get fucked over pretty badly. If you're a hack alchemist, you'd probably end up with a rebound, which could kill you. If you're a good alchemist," he paused, his throat suddenly tight, swallowed, "if you're good enough to hold back from the edge-" _that intangible barrier, standing on the very edge of your abilities, draining them to nothing but holding on to control with the last of your breath and concentration, to keep from the madness of the alchemy possessing you, taking control,_ "you can survive. But you might not be able to use alchemy anymore."

_He _might not be able to use alchemy anymore.

There was a silence after those words, grating on his nerves. He didn't need their pity.

"Will it come back?" a female voice asked.

"I don't know."

Nobody spoke for a while, leaving Ed to sit alone in the blackness. When people around him were silent the illusion of being alone strengthened, making everything seem surreal. Nervously, he started scuffing his shoe in the snow again, strained his ears to understand the murmurs being exchanged around him.

"That must have been some alchemy," somebody ventured, sounding almost... wistful? He didn't know; he was crap at reading people. Without visual cues, he was even worse.

"It was," he said heavily, feeling his expression soften at the memory. Throwing himself into that storm of energy... the way it tore madly through his mind, the way his thoughts had crystallized at the last, how for one glorious moment the world had made absolute _sense_. Looking back, the terror of failure, of losing Alfons was dulled. He remembered reaching into the star, seeing the colossal explosion in his mind's eye, _feeling_ it inside him like a second pulse, fire in his veins.

It had been the greatest alchemy he had ever done.

He didn't know for sure, but maybe... even knowing the outcome, even if it ended up being the _last_ alchemy he would ever do....

He would do it all over again.

* * *

The three of them sat silently at the depot, waiting for a train. Alfons hadn't quite followed the rapid-fire discussion, but the result was that it was decided Al and Winry would be heading towards Central, while Rose stayed to care for Pinako. Al had tried to leave him behind as well, saying he was wounded, but Alfons had insisted. No way he was letting them head alone towards any chance of recovering Edward. Even if he couldn't do anything, Edward was still his partner.

He shivered, pulling the borrowed coat tighter about himself. To the side, Al was studying a thick tome of train schematics. Either a train would arrive, or Al would transmute one; it was just a question of what would happen first.

The frigid air made his lungs ache, and he suppressed the urge to cough.

"If you catch pneumonia..." Winry began darkly, then subsided, leaving the threat unfinished.

"I will try not to," Alfons said. Though he spoke lightly, his heart felt heavier than lead, constricted with worry. Edward was somewhere in the unknown, maybe hurt, most certainly lonely. If only he knew for sure what he was going through, it would stop his mind from conjuring up the worst scenarios. He just prayed Edward was alright.

* * *

_AN: to lilleii, who asked about Ed's height in the fic - I haven't really thought about it in exact centimeters, but Alfons is on the tall side, and Edward's forehead is approximately even with his chin. Hope that answer is satisfactory._

_And once again, apologies to everybody for being so horrible about updating._


	36. The Homicidal Alchemist

Okay, horribly late update from hell. I'm terribly sorry. At least now my exams are over for a good period of time, so I'll try to update more regularly. Thank you so much for your patience!

**Warnings**: torture this chapter, though not terribly graphic.

* * *

Riza made her way down Twenty-Second street, outwardly nonchalant, but always aware of the weight of the gun under her shirt. She didn't expect trouble, not in Central, not _now,_ when the slightest mistake could cause major setbacks, but she would watch her step just the same.

A street urchin dashed past her, and she quickly reached out to snag the back of his jacket.

"I would like copies of the _Central Times, Sunday Tribune, Military Affairs, _and _Grapevine_, please," she said.

The kid looked up at her suspiciously, eyeing her uniform. He rubbed a hand on his grimy chin in consideration, then asked, "What's in it for me?"

Riza held out her hand to show a shiny twenty cenz piece. "And twenty more upon delivery."

"Sure thing, lady." He pocketed the money almost too quickly to see, and scampered off into the crowd.

She watched him for a moment, refusing to acknowledge the man standing behind her. After a few moments he came up to her, a smile on his face, apparently tired of her silence.

"Lieutenant Hawkeye," he said, nodding pleasantly. She nodded back stiffly. Nothing one of the public supporters of the Amestris National Party had to say interested her.

"Mr. Reynolds," she answered, for the sake of outward politeness.

"I don't think you will like the headlines this morning, my dear," he said, smoothing his short black whiskers.

Riza would have dearly liked to make him regret that endearment, but was too professional to show it. Instead she waited patiently for the boy to return. "We shall see," she said.

"Your pet alchemist will be your ruin."

A smile touched her lips. "Will he, now." Not even the current turmoil could mar the relief at the news of Ed's return.

"Here," the boy said suddenly, popping up at her shoulder. He handed her the papers, their headlines readily visible: _Hero of the People or Dangerous Traitor?, Homicidal Alchemist – Returned!, Fullmetal Alchemist: Mass Murderer at Large_.

"What about the _Grapevine_?" she asked.

"They were sold out. You couldn't get a copy of that for gold, right now."

"Do you remember the headline?"

"Sure." The kid flashed a grin. "Old Regime Loyalists Kidnap the People's Alchemist." He hesitated, then added, when she nodded encouragingly, "I bet they won't have him for long! He's a _hero_."

"I quite agree. Thank you." She allowed her smile to show through, now, and turned to Reynolds, who no longer looked nearly so confident. "It seems clear who the people are listening to," she said sweetly. Mustang would be pleased.

* * *

_The blankets were too thin, but then, they always had been. At least by sharing a bed like this they could save on energy, help keep each other warm. Embarrassingly enough, Alfons seemed to manage just fine with their current arrangement, leaving Edward to try in vain to convince his body he was warm enough to actually sleep. He shifted on the crappy mattress, wanting to press closer to Alfons' warmth, but afraid to wake him. It was difficult enough for Alfons to get rest as it was, and if Edward moved any closer chances were he would end up kicking (if he ever managed to get to sleep, that is). He would rather shiver alone on his side of the bed than subject Alfons to that, especially because he knew Alfons would never say anything about it._

_Munich was just so fucking _cold_, though! He pressed his legs together, curling them slightly upward, but the prosthetics were absolutely useless when it came to retaining body heat. His ports ached, and his joints hurt, but he tried to push it all away._

_Alfons made a murmuring sound and Edward froze. Oh shit, had he woken him up? Edward scrutinized Alfons' face, the pale translucence of his skin, the way his short hair was tousled with sleep. His breaths were still even, if slightly raspy, and Edward sighed in relief. _

_Tentatively, he reached out (trying vainly to keep his hand from shaking in the cold) to touch Alfons' jaw with his right-left-_flesh_ hand, and didn't know where the sudden acute desire to see his smile had come from._

_He just barely resisted an undignified squeak when Alfons moved suddenly, groped forward and pulled Edward against his chest, murmuring sleepily, sounding utterly content. The swift heat that rushed through him had nothing to do with Alfons' body, and everything to do with how his heart fluttered at such proof of being desired. He pressed close, could smell Alfons' skin, but was still so damnably, unbearably _cold_-_

Ed shivered awake to find himself alone, curled up in the blankets he had been loaned for the night. The vision of Alfons' face was still vivid, and the memory of light and color made him ache. Now his eyes were open, but that did nothing to dispel the blackness. He didn't know what time it was, how long until dawn – it had to be some time yet, he could hear around him sounds of people sleeping quietly. He didn't even know if it was worth trying to get back to sleep despite the bitter cold. Pulling the blankets tighter about himself, he tried to utilize what warmth they brought, with little success. What he could really use was a hot drink (or spirits), but blundering around the sleeping campsite until he stumbled across something was out of the question.

Sleep would probably be the best idea, though he doubted he would manage.

Alfons had to be safe, he told himself. Even now Alfons was probably in a soft bed somewhere, feeling just as strange and lonely in a bed by himself as Ed felt, but at least warm....

Stupid, and what about Al? And Winry? There were suddenly _so_ _many_ people for him to think of and worry about. A strange smile curved his lips, though he was far from being happy. It was good to be home.

"Fullmetal?" came a whisper in the dark. "Are you awake?" The voice was unfamiliar.

"Yeah," he said softly. It should have been obvious. "It's fucking cold," he added, by way of explanation.

"I can get you something-"

"I'm fine." Ed sat up, pulling the blankets with him. "What time is it?"

"About two hours before dawn. We'll be up and moving pretty soon."

Lovely, Ed thought. The prospect was profoundly uninviting. Ah well, no point in going back to sleep now. "So, who are you?"

Footsteps came closer, crunching squeakily on the snow, and then clothes rustling softly and a gun moved out of the way as the man sat down next to him.

"Irmi."

"That sounds Ishbalan."

"I am," there was a note of defensiveness in his voice, and Ed smiled. Four years ago he never would have imagined a situation where an Ishbalan served as an equal in a military unit.

Though - "Why?" he asked. "And why do you people care so much about me?"

"Why am I here?" Irmi correctly interpreted his question. "Because Ishbalans have as much interest in a better government as anybody else, and now we even have a party of our own. And of course we _care_," he sounded offended that Ed might doubt. "You're the hero of the Revolution! Everybody knows that you fought for the people, and were the first to strike out against the corrupt Old Regime, who tried to hunt you down and silence you. For years people believed they had succeeded, but then we received word-"

What the _fuck_? When the hell had he 'struck out against the old regime'? Oh, he supposed the whole business with the Philosopher's Stone counted as giving Bradley the finger, but he was hardly... just what the hell was going on here?

"- seeing what you did gave so many people hope that there was a chance for a better country for us all-"

_That was Mustang_, Ed wanted to say. He had never given very much thought to bettering the country as a whole; he had been too busy trying to save his brother and protect his own interest, while doing his best to help out everybody and his dog that he ran into along the way. He knew he was _popular_, notorious in some places, but a national hero on this level?

"The truth is," Irmi confessed, and Ed's wandering attention snapped back to him. "I used to dream of having the chance to meet you, and fight by your side."

"Yeah, well," Ed said bitterly, "doesn't look like I'm capable of much fighting right now." In all honesty, his fantasies of home had circled around lazy days spent with Alfons, maybe their own lab, dragging him and Al all over the country to revisit the places he had forgotten. But though he might not _want_ to fight, having the ability stripped from him was almost more than he could bear.

"You don't have to worry!" Irmi said, and Ed could practically hear the other man's chest puffing up with importance. "It's an honor for us to escort you to Central. I – and the rest of us – none of us would let anything happen to you!"

And that, Ed thought, might be the most worrisome of all.

Eventually the camp started waking up, and then they were on the move again. He was starting to be able to differentiate between their voices, already having names attached to some of them, some only recognizable by their timbre or turns of phrase. He had heard, once, about people who worked as assistants for the blind, accompanying them around and describing things for them. Company he had – plenty of it, in fact. As people got used to him, it seemed they were vying for the privilege of helping him along. If the whispered arguments behind him could be relied upon, they had set up some sort of system where his escorts were changed every half an hour or so. The whole situation bordered on the ridiculous, but he couldn't help the creeping satisfaction. It was very, very nice to be liked.

He wished he knew what things looked like, though, with an intensity that almost scared him. Had Alfons been around, Ed knew he would be willing to provide running commentary, describing things so Ed wouldn't be limited to the snow he could feel crunching under his shoes. There was a whole world out there, _his_ world, yet he could hardly perceive it. But he was too proud to ask these soldiers for anything more.

After several hours of walking he could already feel a difference from the previous day. His companions had started chattering at him, as if Ed had nothing better to think about than the stories of their life. As the stories of the lives tended to revolve around him to a certain extent, he decided against protesting.

Embarrassingly, he had no clue what they were talking about, most of the time. He didn't remember all those times he had supposedly helped their friends, neighbors, childhood pet – for goodness' sake, how had he had _time_ for all these supposed escapades? His years as a State Alchemist were blurry, seeming an endless futile chase after the Philosopher's Stone.

But he could listen, and nod along, and pretend interest, because it seemed so important to these people, and they had helped him.

"- and then you transmuted the bridge at Millford, which by the way, is still standing today, and a friend of mine who's an architect said that it's one of the sturdiest bridges he's ever seen. Millford has grown a lot since then, I bet you hardly remember how it was before you transmuted that bridge, but you should see it now-"

As a matter of fact, Ed had absolutely no clue what he was talking about, and could only hazily remember a town called Millford. He kept most of his attention on putting one foot in front of the other, trying to avoid tripping over anything. With the slightly oversized boot slipping around on his automail foot and fucking up his balance it was already hard enough.

"-I'm sure my family would be happy to put you up, if you ever wanted to visit, watch out, there's a branch on the ground in front of you. Oh! Is it true that you cleared out an entire gang of bandits by Ransk?"

Here Brian paused, waiting for a response, so Ed dutifully wracked his brains trying to remember when he had been in Ransk. It sounded like it was up north somewhere... he could vaguely remember some bothersome thugs he had beaten up, probably for calling him short.

"There were barely ten of them," Ed said, just a little uncomfortable, and not sure why. Now that he thought about it, he remembered telling Alfons this story, making much of his heroic fight against an entire camp of bandits. Alfons had laughed, yet at the same time looked suitably awed, and just a bit jealous. It had made Ed wish that there was a bandit camp somewhere around Alfons could help him subdue, just so he didn't feel left out. "And I didn't know they were bandits, at first..."

"Really?" somebody else said, off to his left. "I heard there were at least twenty of them."

"And that you fought off a pack of wolves, too!"

Ed could feel the confused frown on his face and ducked his head, uncomfortable. It could have been twenty people, and maybe a pack of wolves – hell, throw in a forest fire for the hell of it. But suddenly he was so _tired_ of living vicariously through stories of past achievements, gratifying as these people's adoration was. He thought he would come back and _be_ the Fullmetal Alchemist again, not stuck telling the same old stories....

"Shhh! Talk later, people. We're not out of the woods yet."

Everybody fell silent (though a few mutters about bad puns were exchanged), which was a bit of a relief.

It was nerve-wracking, and for a moment he wished Alfons were there to consult with. He still wasn't entirely sure what had gained him these people's adoration, so how could he go about _keeping_ it? Surely Alfons would have an idea-

No. He unconsciously tried to straighten his back, and crushed his feelings away to the back of his mind. He couldn't show weakness, couldn't throw his burden onto Alfons' shoulders. His alchemy might be lost, he might be blind and mostly helpless, but he still had his pride – and he was still the Fullmetal Alchemist.

* * *

Immediately upon the report of the first gunshots, Ed found himself shoved unceremoniously to the ground, accompanied by a quick hiss of "watch out!". Then he could hear no more above the _whizz bang_ of bullets around them. He hated guns. He fucking hated them, and if there was anything he hated _more_, it was sitting there, blind and helpless, while people were shooting around him. He didn't dare move for fear of being shot.

He remembered, quite suddenly, what it had been like to die.

Fighting terror, he reached out to grab the nearest sleeve, just to reassure himself he wasn't alone.

"Fuck, there's too many of them," someone said off to his left – Alan? He couldn't remember.

"Who's attacking?" Ed asked the air urgently, hoping for an answer from the person whose sleeve he couldn't quite force himself to relinquish.

"Hell if I know," he grunted, and the air shattered with another volley of bullets. "But we're not giving them what they want."

He felt like his senses were exploding from overload – the smells of smoke and snow assaulting his nose, gunfire and shouting in his ears, but the one sense he wished for remained stubbornly absent.

"What do they want?" he asked, his mouth dry. He knew what they wanted, but he hoped to hear it denied. A choked-off cry of pain reached his ears; somebody had died.

"You."

Correction: somebody had died because of _him_.

Shuffling sounds, somebody drawing closer, a hushed exchange:

"We're badly outnumbered. We have to get Fullmetal out of here before we're cut off."

"Can we make it?"

Grim silence spoke louder than any words.

Ed hunched down, hardly feeling the wet snow on his skin, shaking. If he was most useful curled up on the ground and silent, that was where he would stay, though it chafed at him horribly. He could smell blood, and smoke, and death.

He slammed one fist into the snow.

These people were going to die. He had never known them, not really. All he recognized was their voices – light with laughter, hoarse, comforting, lilting and musical, gruff and deep, a vast spectrum that would be snuffed out of existence. Because he was too useless in battle. Because they _cared_ about him, wanted to protect him, thought his skin was actually worth something. Out of nowhere, an option rose in his mind. A way out.

The decision was easy.

"Give me to them," he said. "Maybe then you guys can escape."

"Never!" the man next to him hissed furiously. "We're going to get you out of here."

"You'll die!" Ed said, ashamed of how his voice cracked. _Don't you know how horrible dying is_?

"We knew that risk when we were sent to retrieve you. Your survival is more important!"

"No it's not!" He tried to modulate his tone, reached for reason. "The guys on the train didn't kill me. They probably want me alive. If you can get away, maybe you can rescue me again later."

"We can't take that risk-"

"I can." And with those words, Ed stood up, heedless of the bullets (crushing his terror), and slowly, haltingly, walked forward. "Hey!" he shouted, ignoring the furious calls to _get back here you idiot what are you doing?!_ "I'm the one you want, right?"

He had better be right about them not wanting him dead, because otherwise Alfons would probably never forgive him. The sounds around him slowly died down, and he could practically feel the incredulity as he inched his way forward, hands outstretched, hoping desperately he wouldn't trip, because that would be too fucking embarrassing.

Now he could hear the enemy talking amongst themselves apprehensively.

"Got to be a trick... the second he claps his hands we'll all be dead!"

"I can't do alchemy," he said loudly. It hurt less, this time around, and what point was there in hiding it? He inched his right foot forward another step, then his left. He thought he could hear his – friends? – allies behind him, cursing helplessly, but it might have just been his imagination. _Run_, he thought at them.

Footsteps came closer, advancing from the enemy's direction.

"What's wrong with him?" somebody asked suspiciously, then, addressing Ed - "You! Fullmetal, if you make any sudden moves, we'll shoot."

"I won't," Ed said, wondering if they could hear the hopelessness in his words. "I'm blind, anyway."

"He's bluffing!"

"No way that can be true..."

"We can check that pretty easily."

The last words sounded ominous, but before Ed could formulate a plan of action, something hard and blunt descended out of nowhere, smashing into the side of his head. He collapsed into a dazed heap, assisted by a boot to the stomach.

_It hurts worse when you can't see it_, he thought.

"What do you know," the voice said jovially. "I think he _is_ blind."

For possibly the first time in his life, Ed lay still and let himself be made helpless. He didn't resist when they yanked his arms roughly behind his back and tied them, did his best to be docile and follow where they tugged him. Only his head he kept down, so they wouldn't see how tightly his jaw was clenched in an effort not to snarl.

They made him walk, prodding him along with the barrels of their guns, applying verbal abuse when they felt he wasn't moving fast enough. After a while he tuned them out, more focused on keeping his feet moving forward, doing his best to stay upright.

His head hurt, throbbing painfully in cadence with his footsteps, the pain increasing every time somebody decided to trip him for fun and send him face-down in the snow amidst loud guffaws. It got very old, very quickly.

"I liked the other ones better," he said flatly once, after regaining his feet, and got a rifle butt to the stomach as a reward. The pain was enough to convince him to keep his mouth shut, though at the back of his mind he knew there was something wrong with him. Years ago he would never have tolerated this sort of abuse; if they wanted him to come, they would have had to beat him half to death and fucking _dragged_ him. Then again, he never remembered being beaten up _hurting_ so fucking much. All those years in the other world had made him soft.

Still, he slogged on. It felt like his clothes were soaked through from repeated falls in the snow, moisture which was rapidly turning icy in the chill air. For a while his face, fingers, and toes had hurt, but now he could hardly feel them any more. He didn't know how long he had been walking. Time had no meaning for him, measured only in his footsteps. Abstract hunger gnawed at him after a while, but it was forgotten in the greater discomfort of his bruises, and the intensifying shivers.

After one particularly nasty fall, he found himself remembering a night in America, when his prosthetics had given out on him. It had been freezing that night, too, and Alfons had come to get him, picked him up... he could almost feel the warmth of Alfons' back against him... it was no longer ice against his face, but the soft hairs at the back of Alfons' neck tickling his nose....

_Get the fuck up, bastard!_

He hardly noticed the kick that connected with his much-abused ribs. He missed Alfons so badly.

_Murdering sunovabitch, he deserves to die here._

_We have our orders. Get him to his feet._

He thought of Al, then, and shame penetrated his longing. What kind of older brother was he, groveling in the mud like this? What would Al think if he knew that a hug from Alfons would have made it so much easier for him to deal with the abuse?

Pathetic.

He dredged up strength from somewhere, thrust his weakness away from himself, and managed to get his feet under himself, assisted by rough hands pulling him upright. Deep inside himself he found a lukewarm core of fury, which gave him enough strength to clench his teeth and attack as best as he could, snarling and kicking, clamping his teeth down on a hand and getting a mouthful of blood. The scuffle was short and bitter. Soon enough they had grabbed him again, though he writhed and tried to break free. Something heavy smashed into the back of his head, again, again, until finally consciousness slipped away.

He wondered if now Al would be proud of his big brother, and if Alfons would understand.

* * *

Only the fuzziness in his head kept the pain from being excruciating. Sometimes people around him shouted, making his head pound. Other times he could feel himself being dragged, jolting him to the roots of his teeth. At intervals, a cloth that smelled cloyingly sweet was pressed to his face, but even that wasn't enough to keep him from shocking conscious at the pain when his hands and feet were rubbed back to life.

For a time, the lack of thought, of decisions, of worry, was a relief.

When he woke, this time for real, it was with a gasp and splutter as what seemed to be a bucket of ice water was emptied over his head. Impressions bombarded him – he was sitting on something hard, hands chained behind his back, in a place with a small echo (probably a small room of some sort. He didn't like where this train of thought was leading him), and there were others inside with him.

He was cold, bone-deep. Water dripped down his face and made his hair stick to the back of his neck, and he had to clench his jaw to keep his teeth from chattering. His automail ports were a mess of pain; he was sort of glad Winry wasn't there to see them, because they felt damaged.

(He was lying to himself. He would have given almost _anything_ for Winry to have been there.)

"What's your name?" a voice snapped at him.

It didn't occur to him to lie. "Edward Elric," he managed through an aching jaw, his voice unsteady. Didn't they know who he was? What was the point of all this? He wanted to lie down, to shut down, he was so tired, he hurt....

"Liar," the voice claimed harshly, and Ed found the strength to chuckle drily.

"I wish," he said. Something was off in his lungs, an itch deep inside that seemed intent on tearing out of him. He thought of Alfons, of his hacking cough and rasping lungs, of the blood and the worms and felt a rush of longing.

"Who are you?" was shouted again.

Ed repeated his answer tiredly. His head lolled to the side, and space started spinning around him.

"Edward Elric vanished four years ago."

"I came back," he mumbled distantly. The voices were far away, he was spinning, and the part of him that was aware he was losing consciousness was quite happy about that situation-

Another dash of freezing water left him gasping, and more awake than he really wanted to be.

"Stay awake." There was an undercurrent of glee in the voice that made Ed's stomach twist with apprehension. Whoever the bastard was, he was _enjoying_ this. "Where were you?"

Tense silence as they waited for his reply. His attention was momentarily arrested by the rhythmic drip of water on the floor somewhere below him. It was dark, and it was silent, and maybe if he stalled long enough-

He was backhanded roughly, snapping his head to the side. "I asked you a question."

Ed forced his breathing under control, and felt an empty sort of despair. He couldn't answer. Anything he said would put Al in danger – put _Alfons_ in danger.

"Fuck you," he said tiredly.

This time there was no blow – though he flinched in anticipation of it when the hand touched his hair, tangling in it, forcing his head back. His eyes were wide, hopelessly trying to pierce the darkness.

"You might as well answer," the voice growled in his ear, too close for comfort. "One way or another, you _will_ tell us."

Ed's breath came heavily around the strain in his neck, and when he tried to swallow, his mouth was dry. He remained silent.

"Come, now," the man said, his voice lightening, "I don't want to have to hurt you."

"Yes, you do," Ed managed. His mind was happy now to supply him with images of what this room could be like, stocking it with a whole arsenal of various torture devices.

It would hurt, worse than it did now. He knew pain, in various forms – and he knew they could destroy his body, take away what little he had left....

"Just tell me what I want to know," the man said softly, persuasively.

For a moment it was as if he could see – Alfons' image flashed before his eyes in full, vivid color, bleeding out of what could have been a fatal hole in his chest.

These people wanted him hurt, dead. Better him than Alfons.

And maybe... even now, surely Al was trying to find him, those soldiers would come after him, try to rescue him....

"Fuck you," he said, his voice weak but resolute, and steeled himself for pain.

His hair was released abruptly, and the man tore away from him with a vile curse. Swift footsteps, the heavy _clang_ of the door slamming shut, and Ed was alone.

A bluff? It was a relief, to be alone, though now he was free to notice how badly his body hurt. And a reprieve now didn't mean there would be no torture later. Still, it was something.

Fuck, he was cold. So very cold.

He drifted, for a while. When somebody else came in, he didn't even have enough energy to react. But they were gentle, directing somebody to lift him from the chair he was chained to, and had him carried into a room which was blissfully warm. By now he was shaking so hard he could barely stand unassisted, and definitely incapable of protesting when his shirt and pants were stripped off of him. When they were replaced with something warm and thick and _dry_, he no longer wanted to.

All the while somebody was clucking over him, a female voice this time, commenting on his bruises and mistreatment. He didn't know who they were, or what the fuck was going on, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. For now he was dry, and warming up, and nobody was beating on him, and of course he wouldn't mind answering a few questions about....

"Who are you?" he rasped, his mind started to work logically once again.

"Charlotte Bryant," she said immediately. "Please don't worry, I'm here to try and help you! But in order to do that I need to know a few things. Please tell me, what _did_ happen in Lior?"

Lior. Scar. Kimblee. The Philosopher's Stone. Al. And now he remembered King Bradley blaming him, and initiating a country-wide manhunt. No way....

"What do you want with me?"

"Just to know what happened, nothing more! Was it your brother who brought you back?"

Ed stared off into the darkness. "Are you with... Mustang?" he asked tentatively. He didn't think Mustang would help him, but maybe... they had sort of had an understanding, once....

She hesitated. "Of course!" she said warmly. "Mustang sent me to take care of you. He's been very worried. Now, won't you tell me what happened to you?"

He shifted on the mattress. It was so soft, so inviting... the implication was inescapable. All he had to do was cooperate, and he would be given what he so dearly needed.

If only he believed her.

"If you're with Mustang, then send _him_," he said. She was silent after that, and left a little while later. It came as no surprise when other people came and tossed him in a cold cell, with nothing but hard concrete to lie on. At least he was dry, he thought. And Al and Alfons were safe.

Time passed. At some point a bunch of soldiers came – there was shouting in the corridors – and then he was marched out, apprehension heavy in his gut. But then they unchained him and took him somewhere warm, where a guy calling himself Alan Berman introduced himself as the head muckety-muck of some political party or something and, surprise surprise, tried to get Ed to talk about Lior et cetera. This time Ed cooperated long enough to insist several times that he hadn't done it, before falling silent on the issue of what else had gone on there and where he had been.

For a change, his lack of cooperation didn't lead to immediate punishment. He was fed, kept in a warm room with a bed, and even allowed to sleep for several hours. After a time they brought in a doctor, who cleaned him up with something that stung like hell in his cuts, and bandaged his cracked ribs, and gave him something for the pain. He hated how pathetically grateful he was for it.

* * *

It drove him nuts that he couldn't properly gauge the passage of time. He knew it had to be several days at least, because he was fed (too intermittently to help with timekeeping), his cough was worsening, but his face was starting to feel less like one big bruise. Even with the fact that he tended to heal quickly, it had been far too long. He absolutely refused to wonder why there was no rescue, why he was still here....

At least, for now, he was enjoying relative peace with this Berman and his fellows, until some other people burst in and dragged him unceremoniously away, over the protests of whoever had custody of him. They dragged him for a while, then beat him up, dragged him around some more, chained him to something, and kicked him a few more times for good measure. Ed sprawled on the floor, feeling the clicking of something having gone quite _wrong_ in his shoulder, and gratefully lost consciousness for a bit.

He didn't have to spend too long with these wonderful specimens of humanity, though. After a while he was picked up by some other people, who didn't particularly seem to like him, either (as evidenced by their fond nickname of 'murderer', a nice change from being called the Homicidal Alchemist), but at least they didn't seem inclined to hurt him. There was another interrogation – by now he dealt with them easily, simply pretending he was somewhere far away, preferably with Alfons, and stayed quiet.

They got creative, too. People tried to pry information out of him with cajoling and threats, bribery and wildly implausible stories about which of his friends they represented. Mustang featured prominently on the list.

Then somebody decided to sell him some new story – a guy introduced himself as Leon Harris (something mildly familiar about his voice, though Ed couldn't pinpoint it), and said he was a lawyer, and wanted to represent Ed.

Ed laughed. "Lawyer?" he asked incredulously. "What, they can't drag me in front of a firing squad by themselves?"

"Nobody is going to be dragging you in front of a firing squad without a fair trial," Harris said staunchly.

"Right," Ed said, and snorted in disbelief. "Are you going to tell me Mustang sent you, now?"

"Well," Harris hesitated. "It may seem hard to believe, but he did. Colonel Mustang has a vested interest in you winning this trial – as do many of us. But in order for me to help you, I'm going to need some cooperation."

Ed swung his leg in a jittery motion, rattling the chains. Years ago, Mustang had hinted heavily that if Ed and Al were ever found out, the military would quietly cause them to vanish, no questions asked. Now this man was coming and talking about lawyers and shit, and he didn't know how to swallow it. If his headache weren't as bad he might have tried to figure out some sneaky way to pry the information he needed.

Lacking the energy for finesse, he just decided to ask straight out. "Why should I tell you anything? You could have a whole army of people there just waiting for my confession."

"That would be illegal," Harris said, sounding just a bit unhappy. "I would offer to show you my credentials, but your blindness makes that a bit pointless."

"And kidnapping me out of my home, dragging me across the country, and beating me up every few hours _is_ legal?" Ed wondered. Though he supposed having lawyers was an improvement over not having them, even if the military's methods didn't seem to have changed significantly.

"No, it's not," Harris answered. Ed could hear the rustle of his clothes as he shifted. "It's not a great comfort to you right now, I suppose, but we've been raising hell over your maltreatment. Public opinion is very much on your side."

Yes, because 'public opinion' would be such a great comfort tonight when they put him to bed in his freezing little cell on the horrible mattress (which definitely had bedbugs or something) and he tried to ignore his hunger and aching limbs and go to sleep. Lovely.

"Will you answer some questions?" Harris asked, sounding just a bit impatient. Ed's ability to piss people off seemed to have grown exponentially in those four years. He had apparently managed to get whole hosts of people he didn't even know royally ticked off at him, and it had taken him a bare five minutes to get to Harris.

"No."

"Can you direct me towards witnesses who can testify your lack of involvement in the destruction of Lior?"

Against his will, Ed found himself interested. Finally, a question that actually made some sort of sense, and fit the persona this person was putting forth.

He pondered. "All the survivors from the units sent there that were at the eastern end of the city. They should have fucking _seen_ me trying to block the-"

"The what?" Harris pounced.

Ed shut his mouth with a snap, and refused to say any more, heart pounding. Idiot. He berated himself all the way back to his cell, and fell asleep that night sick with worry that he had somehow doomed Al, and dreamed of Alfons.

* * *

Had Alfons not been gawking like some country bumpkin, Al probably wouldn't have noticed there was anything different about Central. Whispers following him were normal, and if there were more soldiers around – well, lately it seemed that there were soldiers _everywhere_, it was hardly worth noting. But since Alfons seemed to find Central interesting Al looked around, too, and wasn't particularly pleased at what he saw. People seemed unusually tense, and the murmurs following his red coat were louder than usual.

A disquieting thought occurred to him. If whoever-it-was was desperate enough to kidnap Ed, was Al in danger as well? And what if somebody decided to go after Winry or Alfons? Winry was smart and capable enough to hold her own to a certain extent, but Alfons seemed totally helpless. He added protecting Alfons and Winry to his mental list of things to do.

Abruptly he paused, unsure. He had had vague plans of imposing on Gracia for hospitality, but if there was danger, maybe they would be better off finding somewhere obscure and out of the way? His lack of foresight had already cost them dearly. If only Ed were there, surely he would know what to do.

"What's wrong?" Winry asked, and he bit his lip. If he had been alone it wouldn't even be an issue, but now....

He was about to voice his concerns when, across the plaza, he saw a familiar figure, flanked by four more soldiers.

"Hawkeye!" he said, a smile of unfeigned relief on his face. He didn't want to rely on others, knew the danger in entrusting Ed to their mercy. Even so, it was a relief to see her rapid, decisive footsteps. Hawkeye would know what to do, how to go about springing Ed.

A tense conversation later, and they were headed in a different direction. Not to see Ed – Hawkeye was disturbingly quiet about when that could be brought about – but to a safe place, where they would meet with Mustang and discuss their next moves. Which _would_ involve freeing Ed, Al told himself firmly.

Mustang's headquarters at the moment were in what used to be The Paradise Hotel, but was now fortified almost past recognition. A wall surrounded the premises, obviously erected by alchemy, soldiers situated atop it at regular intervals. At the gate, the guards recognized Hawkeye immediately and let them in, and Al fought to suppress irrational apprehension when the heavy gates swung shut behind them.

No gate was a match for his alchemy, he told himself.

Inside, Hawkeye led them through the corridors, up stairs, and eventually they were forced to slow down to compensate for Alfons' lungs. Al felt a grudging respect that Alfons didn't complain, but walked grimly on, even though pain was clearly visible on his face.

Finally they reached their destination, a suite that seemed to have been converted into a conference room.

"Ah, good, you're here," Mustang said, looking up briefly from his discussion. The man he was conversing with looked up as well. He was well-dressed and broad shouldered, clean shaven but for a moustache, with short, fair hair.

Al was about to ask who this man was and what was going on, but the attention was momentarily diverted by Alfons' sharp intake of breath. Al turned to him, to find him staring at the strange man as if he had seen a ghost, white as a sheet.

Mustang stood up, frowning, apparently having shelved whatever he was going to say, for now. "Who is this?"

Al looked to Winry for a plausible answer, but she was staring at the floor. How much were they supposed to admit? How much had Ed told? He wished they had agreed on a version of the events.

"Well?" Mustang said, starting to sound impatient. When nobody answered, he sighed. "Come here." He then grabbed Al's elbow, despite his sharp protest, and stood the two of them next to each other, regarding them with dark eyes.

"It's uncanny," Hawkeye said softly. Al scowled. He hated any reference to Alfons' status as his doppelgänger.

"Explain!" Mustang barked, a strange note of tension in his voice. "Damn it, Alphonse, we're in enough trouble without you springing this on me! I need to know how he could influence the outcome."

"Where's Ed?" Al asked, but at that moment Alfons decided to speak, so of course everybody ignored Al. Damn.

"I'm a friend of Edward's," he said, then paused. "How much do you know about where Edward has been?"

Mustang let out an explosive sigh, and sat back down on one of the couches, running his fingers through his hair in frustration. As if that had been an invitation, everybody moved to do likewise, squeezing far too many people onto the too-small sofas, and leaving Winry to perch on one of the arms.

"_Edward_," Mustang growled, "has been completely uncooperative. He won't talk, he won't-"

"-And as I've been telling you, that's completely understandable, given how he's been treated," the strange man cut in smoothly.

"You saw him?" Alfons burst out, Al's cry on the tail of it, and Winry leapt to her feet.

"Gentlemen," Hawkeye cut in, loudly. "And lady. I believe introductions would help."

Everybody quieted down, though Al found it difficult to calm the racing of his heart. Why were they sitting here wasting time if this man had _seen_ Ed, and knew where he was? Why couldn't they break him out?

"I am Leon Harris," the man introduced himself. At the corner of Al's eye, he saw Alfons flinch and look away. "Colonel Mustang has requested my services as defense attorney for Fullmetal."

Al wasn't sure if he would have preferred the man to use Ed's name. The familiarity would have annoyed him, but at the same time, the distance of Ed's alchemist title made him unhappy.

"Attorney?" Winry asked in a small voice. "Is there going to be a trial?"

"We'll get to that," Mustang announced, and looked pointedly at Alfons.

"My name is Alfons Heiderich," he said, his voice just a bit rough. "I am a friend of Edward's from – from where he was for the past four years."

"And where was that?" Mustang asked, but Al cut in.

"Your turn. Where did you see Ed? Is he okay? What's this about a trial?"

Harris sighed.

"The Fullmetal Alchemist is accused of murdering over 900 soldiers and destroying the city of Lior. And a minor charge of desertion. Many in the higher echelons of the military, including members of the ANP are pushing for his trial."

"But he didn't _do_ it," Al said stupidly into the silence. What kind of joke was this? Oh, he knew there were some who bandied about that it had been Ed's fault, but _anybody_ with half a mind should be able to see how ludicrous the claim was!

"That is what the trial is there to prove," Harris answered.

"But why now?" Alfons said, uncertainty making his accent even worse. "Four years have passed. This is very drastic."

Mustang spoke then, irony heavy in his voice. "Politics. The Democratic Revolutionary Party is the basis of the current Parliament, which has been extolling Edward's many virtues for the past four years in an attempt to gain favor with the people."

_Politics_? Al could hardly listen, fury rushing through him. Treating Ed's life like it was some kind of game, accusing him of crimes he hadn't committed....

Was _this_ what he had brought his brother back for?

"If Edward is proved guilty, the current government would fall out of favor, both with the populace and internationally, a situation which the ANP would undoubtedly pounce on."

"As I was saying earlier," Harris cut in again, "The opposition must have something up their sleeve, because as of now their case is remarkably flimsy. There are dozens of witnesses who can testify that Edward was not inside Lior at the time. This is a diversion."

"So even if we win, it's still not over," Winry said darkly, and Harris nodded. "Can we win?"

"It's not just an issue of proof," Mustang said. "Edward has the right to choose his own lawyer, but if he doesn't, the court will choose for him. According to Mr. Harris' reports, Edward has been badgered to the point where he trusts no one."

"What's wrong with a court lawyer?" Al asked in a small voice, wondering if it was a very stupid question.

"Because it's a question of _which_ court," Mustang said with a snort, crossing his arms.

Harris elaborated. "It's simple. If Edward is tried by a military court, he will be found guilty, because the vast majority of the military wants to be rid of him. In a civilian court, there is a high chance he will be found innocent, because the people currently in Parliament would like to keep their seats. Therefore the military refuse to allow him to be tried by civilian court, and vice versa."

"What can we do?" Alfons asked.

"Convince that stubborn idiot to accept Mr. Harris as his lawyer," Mustang growled, "so we can actually start working on his case. Though," he narrowed his eyes suddenly and sat up straight, looking at Alfons, "I believe you may hold some of the answers we need."

Al's heart skipped a beat. They hadn't ever sat down and discussed what was okay to tell Mustang, and even worse, he hadn't warned Alfons of everybody's treachery. Now Alfons, who probably didn't know any better, would spill the beans and what if Ed was hurt _again_?

"I do not know which answers you need," Alfons said, a vague sort of look on his face.

"This is not the time for games," Mustang said. "What happened to Edward? Where did he vanish to, and how did you come to return? Nobody has a clue where Edward vanished to four years ago, since Alphonse lost his memory and-"

_Shit_. He hadn't wanted Alfons to know!

"You lost your memory?" Alfons repeated to him in horror. "That – not possible – you don't remember...?"

Al squirmed uncomfortably. A heavy silence descended, and he felt small and guilty. As if Ed wasn't important enough to him to even remember, as if Ed's sacrifice and suffering had been meaningless.... He wanted to say it didn't matter, that he had learned as much as he could and that things would still be the same, but couldn't. Not to Alfons, who seemed like he was hoping for Al to tell him otherwise – and why did he even care so much?

"I don't remember anything from the time I was in the armor," he said stiffly. "I managed to piece together some of what happened to him – to _us_, though."

"Oh," Alfons said. He looked at the floor, practically radiating dejection – _where the hell did he get off_? What right did he have to sit there like it was his own personal tragedy, as if he could understand what it felt like for Al, what it would do to Ed if he knew?

The thought that somehow Alfons _did_ understand what it would do to Ed terrified him.

Mustang cleared his throat. "Alfons? Answers?"

_Please_, Al thought, as if it could change something. Everything depended on what Alfons would say, now.

"Edward once told me there would be great danger if people would know," Alfons said suddenly, a faraway look in his eyes. "He doesn't like to talk about it. About – what happened. He would be angry at me if I would tell."

"There is more at stake here than Fullmetal's feelings," said Harris drily. "Wouldn't you prefer he be alive to be angry?"

Alfons bit his lip, then looked to Al for support. Relief at the fact that Alfons hadn't spilled the beans suddenly morphed into terror. How could he make the decision?

He wanted to know what Alfons was hiding, what secrets Ed had told him. During one of their conversations Ed had hinted at some sort of alchemy, but immediately clammed up when questioned. How could Ed keep secrets from Al? They were all each other had. For years they had stuck together, through more than anybody could possibly imagine. And then along came Alfons, with his stupid accent and his secret language that only he and Ed spoke, and the stupid fringe of hair on his forehead that Ed liked to touch.

He would make Alfons tell, but later. Not when everybody was around.

Decisively, he shook his head. There had to be another way.

Infuriatingly, it was Alfons who thought of it.

"But all you need is for Edward to trust you," he said quickly, after apologizing once again for refusing to give away information. "I can tell you something to say that will make him know you have my cooperation."

"Why you and not me?" Al blurted, before he could think of all the reasons not to speak up. "I'm his _brother_, if there's anybody who shared things with him it's _me_-"

Alfons interrupted, his voice calm, collected, a complete opposite of Al's strident tones. "What I have to say is something nobody in this world knows."

Al's mouth snapped closed and he leaned back on the sofa, sure his face must be burning with fury and humiliation. It was true, and it _hurt_. Ed had spent four years in another world with this person, sharing memories that nobody else would ever be able to intrude on.

He felt a disquieting flash of resentment at how Ed had botched the transmutation of his memories, quickly quelled.

Alfons, in the meantime, was talking again: "Tell him... 'Alfons Heiderich denkt, dass du kein Dämon bist'."

He listened idly as Alfons made Harris repeat it several times, until he claimed Harris pronounced it understandably. The conversation continued around him, Alfons and Winry asking questions which he couldn't really be bothered to listen to. What he really wanted was to free his brother, but Mustang so plausibly and elegantly explained why it was impossible, and would lead to further complication of the already-complex situation. It would be better to spend their efforts on making Ed as comfortable as possible, Mustang said. Against his will, Al was convinced.

He watched the clock, waiting impatiently for the meeting to be over, so he could finally be alone with his thoughts.

* * *

This time, it was slightly easier to get in to see Fullmetal. Some of the guards remembered Harris, and by quick talking he managed to have them set up an urgent interview despite the late hour. The security around the small prison compound was tighter than he had ever seen; it took three checks, rifling through his bag and patting him down for weapons or anything else he might try to sneak in, and a dim-witted looking guard following his every step until he was in the small, concrete-bound meeting room. Once again the guard made snide remarks about how dangerous the prisoner was, and asked whether Harris felt safe being alone with him, which the lawyer found frankly offensive. He brushed the guard off, preferring to wait alone.

When the heavy door on the other side of the cell clanked open, Harris was once again struck by how Edward Elric looked nothing like the legend he was. He shuffled along slowly, hampered by heavy shackles around his ankles, his half-open eyes pointed blankly at the floor. Heavy bruising could be seen on practically every inch of visible skin, and Harris made a mental note to monitor guard abuse closely. He looked nothing like the murderer the ANP claimed him to be, yet at the same time, nothing like the character of the Fullmetal Alchemist as seen in comic books and films. Quite simply, he looked like a tired, hurt, depressed young man, who badly needed a shower.

Harris cleared his throat, mildly uncomfortable at dealing with a blind man, and trying to suppress it. "My name is Leon Harris. I spoke to you earlier today."

Elric was silent for a moment, then spoke in a sarcastic little mutter. "So it's still 'today', huh? Good to know." In a louder voice he said, "Well, what is it this time?"

Harris brushed aside annoyance at the aggression. "I have a message to deliver," he said. He reached into his briefcase and pulled out the slip of paper he had written a transliteration on, and carefully repeated the words Alfons had taught him.

The change was remarkable. Elric stiffened at the first words, staring straight ahead, wide-eyed. He swallowed, then tried for a tired smile around the swelling on the left side of his face. "I was beginning to think they had forgotten – they really sent you – you're going to help me?" The raw hope was plainly visible.

"Yes," Harris confirmed, pulling his chair closer to the scratched metal table between them. He set his briefcase on it with a low clang, inwardly relieved. He had been wary of trusting the strange young man's assurances that this would work. Time was of the essence, and every day that passed was another day somebody else might manage to convince Elric of their sincerity, some other lawyer win the right to represent one of Amestris' most famous wanted men in what might be the trial of the century.

"Is Alfons alright?" Elric asked suddenly, eager. "He wasn't hurt? Is he here? This is Central, right?"

Harris reassured him, and wrote something down in his notebook. The way the two asked after each other, one might think _they_ were the brothers, instead of Edward and Alphonse.

"Now that we know each other, shall we move on to more pressing issues?" Harris arranged his papers, reviewed the list of questions, and then looked at his charge. "I'd like to start off with -"

"Hang on," Elric interrupted. The innocent relief dropped off his face, replaced by a wariness more alert than what he had shown before. "Why are you doing this? Who are you to Mustang? Why do you want to defend me?"

"I'm a lawyer," Harris said patiently. "This is my job. Mustang hired me because he knows I am one of the best in the field."

At that Elric looked perturbed. "So, you believe I didn't do it?"

Harris lay down his pen, and regarded him. "What I believe is immaterial. By law, you are innocent until proven guilty," he ignored Elric's muttered remark of 'well _that's_ new', "and it is my job to defend you to the best of my abilities."

"I did not fucking destroy Lior!" Elric snapped, obviously having completely missed the point of Harris' little speech. "How can you say it doesn't matter? How the hell can you defend me if you think I did it?"

Harris found himself getting annoyed again. Did the young man know _nothing _of the legal system? "Even if I were to know for certain that you were guilty, I would still defend you to the best of my abilities."

It was the wrong thing to say. Elric looked stricken, and turned his head away to hide his expression. "I have enough bastards here thinking I'm a murderer," he said roughly. "If you think so too, you can just get the hell out."

Harris was silent, pondering. His first impulse was to say whatever it took to get Elric to open up, but he disliked lying to clients. As for his innocence... from the evidence, the case did seem flimsy enough, though Harris himself was a skeptic. He had seen all manner of criminals and murderers hiding behind innocent faces and indignant acts, though none had gone so far as to refuse an attorney on the basis of it.

He was surprised to find that he rather wanted to believe in him. Elric was a hero to many, and Harris was intrigued. Cynical as he was, he, too, had grown up on the legends of noble thieves helping the poor, and masked alchemists fighting crime.

"I would like to believe you," he said quietly. "I'm just waiting for a reason to."

He could see his words taking effect.

"I'll tell you," Elric said roughly. "But... promise you'll help me?"

"I promise," said Harris, feeling childish.

And then Elric started his story, and if even half of what he said was true, the films and books barely contained a fraction of the real legend of the Fullmetal Alchemist.

* * *

Alfons sat alone in his room, unsure whether or not he was pleased with the current arrangement. It had been a relief when Mustang had offered them a place to sleep, a small room for each of them. Gratefully, he changed into the nightclothes he had brought from the Rockbells', and curled up in bed, ready to fall into a much needed slumber. But it was still too early for that, despite how exhausting the day had been, and the bed was far too empty.

When he had imagined what it would be like in Edward's world, he hadn't ever imagined himself alone.

Rolling onto his side, he pressed his face into the pillow and hugged it to him, thankful that no strangers shared his room so he wouldn't have to answer for his pathetic actions. He closed his eyes, and pretended Edward was beside him, one arm slung over Alfons' waist the way he liked it, half possessive and half needy. He wouldn't need to look at Edward, or even hug him back. Instead, he would stare ahead into the darkness, and say, _hey, Edward._ _Harris - he looks like my father_.

And he wouldn't have to say anything else, because Edward would understand. Edward knew the horrible wrench of losing family, the emptiness it left behind. Even more, he knew the shock of seeing them again, a familiar face with alien eyes, a person who didn't move or talk like they were supposed to, but whose voice was still the same. He knew what it was like to desperately search for just a hint of recognition, to think all the words that had never been said, but know that to say them to this person would just paint you a lunatic, to try and pretend, just for a moment....

There was a lump in his throat. He thought of his parents' graves in Lienz, and reminded himself that Leon Harris was not his father.

Quite suddenly, he remembered the first time he and Edward had met, and the raw, despairing hope on his face, dashed so quickly once Alfons had opened his mouth to introduce himself. He thought of living with Harris, of seeing his face every day, a constant reminder of what he had lost, and suddenly wondered just how much pain he had caused Edward by looking like Al. He remembered, so long ago, when he had first kissed Edward, full of his own offended pride and barely sparing a thought to what it must have done to him.

Had Edward been with him, Alfons would have apologized for that time. And he knew that Edward would have done something, said something, that wouldn't have made everything better but would have helped him cope, taken the edge off his pain.

But Edward was gone, locked up somewhere, and Alfons couldn't even comfort himself with the thought that surely Edward was thinking of him right at this very moment, not now that Edward had more people to worry about than just him.

He opened his eyes in the darkness and sat up. The movement was too sudden, and he was forced to wait for the sharp pain in his lungs to fade. He leaned over and fumbled by the bed until he found his tiny suitcase, and inside, the book he had filched from a shelf at the Rockbells.

Then, he squirmed back under the warm covers and turned on the small gas light on the nightstand. A book about Edward was better than no Edward at all, and any distraction was better than none. He started on the first page, curiosity taking hold.

He could hardly believe Edward was as famous as he had always claimed, but there was his name, and this book was just one of many. His Edward, the reclusive, obnoxious man, was a national hero. Every word Edward had told him was true, and Alfons felt a rush of warmth that despite everything, Edward had chosen _him._

But after barely twenty minutes he tossed aside the book, a strange ache in his chest. The person described, the brash, arrogant, introverted adventurer was completely unfamiliar to him. If this was Edward, then who was _his _Edward? He had never imagined that Edward's personality could have been so different.

_Was_ this how Edward really had been? Was this the _true_ Edward, and the one Alfons had known simply a muted stand-in until he could return home? He lay on his back, staring up at the black ceiling in hurt confusion. Even Edward was becoming unfamiliar to him.

Edward had died, and he had changed. Alfons thought of the Edward he had known these past three years, and of the Fullmetal Alchemist in the stories, and wondered if he could learn to love them both. He was afraid the answer might be 'no'.


	37. Homeless

I know, I know, it took me FAR too long to get this up. Frankly, this chapter was hell to write. I tied myself up in knots, rewrote the whole thing maybe three times, and did so much editing I got sick of reading it. Without the serious handholding by my betas (Cryogenia, Yixsh/CaptainKase, and Naatz), I would never even have gotten this far. Even so, there was a big disagreement about elements in this chapter (should be obvious when you get to it...), and even now there's no real consensus on it. I did my best, telling the story the way I felt it should be told, and I hope you will enjoy it. All remaining mistakes are my own.

I also want to say, to the anonymous reviewer who kept urging me to update - thank you. You reminded me that there are people waiting for this, and to get my ass in gear and finish it, already.

* * *

**Chapter 37**

Winry no longer asked how Ed was doing. Instead, she scrutinized him carefully as she unpacked her wrenches and materials, taking note of his state. Her advantage over Harris was that she saw him practically naked, and could report all the bruises hiding under his clothes. There were new bruises on his knee, deep purple and swollen, probably from hitting the ground one too many times. His wrist was chafed nearly raw from the cuffs, despite the bandages she wrapped around it every time she visited, to minimize friction.

She fumbled a pair of pliers in helpless fury when she saw the set of distinct fingerprints on his neck. How _could_ they, when Ed was chained up and _blind_ and couldn't lift a _finger_ to defend himself?

She was ready to start work. As she opened up his arm she began chatting about what was happening around Central, keeping to light anecdotes intended to raise his mood. She told about her visit to the Hughes's, and how clever and pretty Elicia was growing up to be. Ed smiled at that. A story about Havoc showing up at base one night falling-down drunk and a girl on his arm didn't go over so well. When she inquired further, he just said sadly that he and Alfons used to go drinking together, then clammed up.

While finishing with the jammed rotary mechanism in his upper arm, she reflected that replacing his arm piecemeal was hardly the simplest way to go about it, but it gave her a legitimate excuse to see him often. Seeing how miserable he was, she would take any excuse she could get.

"I'm almost done here," she said, reattaching some of the torn wires in his wrist. She lowered her voice, casting a furtive glance around the cell to make sure nobody was within earshot. "So what would you like me to fudge this time? The pistons in the elbow, or would you rather I muddle something in the wrist?"

_Any_ excuse.

A lukewarm smile crossed Ed's face. "The elbow. I hate when my wrist is fucked."

Though deliberately sabotaging the automail went against nearly everything she believed in, she now saw it as a necessary evil. When Harris had first told her to do it she had nearly rebelled, but the look on Ed's face when she reluctantly explained that it was a pretext for her to visit him changed her mind immediately.

"There," she said, unable to really take pride in work like this.

She fit the grille over his forearm and screwed it tight. Barely a month ago the arm had been brand new, and look at it now.

A glance at Ed showed that his face was still studiously blank, turned slightly away from her. She tried to read his expression, but as often happened, her eyes were drawn down to the horrible scar on his chest. She looked away from it immediately.

Ed wouldn't talk about it, she knew. He didn't like to say much about what had happened in that other world, except for what could be joked about. But his body told a story: he had lost muscle mass, yet was still lean. The bruises and sluggishly-healing cracked ribs were a result of his capture, but the unfamiliar scars weren't.

She wanted to tease him, like she used to, but he acted too unfamiliar for that. Before, there had never been these awkward silences when she worked on him. Ed would have noticed that something was bothering her, and made some sort of misguided, silly attempt to fix whatever he thought was wrong.

"I don't know what you did without me to fix your prosthetics, on the other side," she said, and it came out more tentative than mildly affronted. Face it, she told herself, she didn't really know how he would respond to teasing anymore.

"After my father -" he stopped, swallowed, then forced a grin. "Alfons helped me with them, sometimes. He was always really nice to me when they broke down." Astonishingly, his grin morphed into an honest, bittersweet smile.

Alfons again. Winry's stomach twisted slightly in discomfort, and she looked down at her tools. "I don't understand why you brought him," she said. "He's having a really tough time here. Why would he want to leave his own world?"

At that Ed jerked, his automail arm sending a box of screws flying. Great.

He looked around suddenly, doing that thing where he tried to pinpoint another person by their voice. He stared intently at some point above her left shoulder for a moment, then sagged.

"Of course it's difficult," he said, and she didn't understand why the admission took so much out of him. "But he always said..." Ed trailed off, and never did tell her what Alfons always said, but the memory of it evoked a sad smile. "Winry? Will you tell him I'm sorry?"

"I will," she answered, trying to keep her voice natural. Sometimes she hated that she was the only one who got to see him, if only because of the constant burden of being a go-between. It felt almost like he never had anything to say to her, just to Al and Alfons, though she knew that wasn't true. But she knew better than to ask what he was sorry for; Ed would probably never say.

There wasn't much more left for them to do. Making an effort to be cheerful, Winry started packing up her things. As always, Ed had a million last-minute messages for everybody, telling them all not to worry and that he was fine. The lies only worked for people who hadn't seen him in person.

It was only outside that she realized she was so used to Ed sharing nothing with her that she had stopped asking, and by now it was probably too late. Ed had no reason to confide in her. If he was going to open up, Alfons seemed a more likely option. Who _was_ he, to have Ed asking after him so much?

Unexpected annoyance quickened her steps, her heels hitting the ground harder than they needed. For a moment she understood Al's antagonism, though she would never dream of acting as childishly, no matter how much it stung.

Four years was a long time, she reminded herself. If during those years she had grown, and changed, and met new people, it stood to reason Ed had, too. She just hadn't expected him to fall back into her life so suddenly, and to once again make it all about _him_.

Though, she thought wryly, at least this time she wasn't the only one. It seemed that right now the fate of the entire country rested on him.

* * *

There was a long, golden hair in the sink. Alfons sighed and felt a split second's flash of annoyance, before he remembered with a pang why it could not possibly be Edward's. Since the small bathroom was shared by several other people, the hair was probably Winry's. He didn't feel comfortable scolding her about it (the way he would have done to Edward, who would then have griped good-naturedly back at him), so he cleaned it up himself, frowning in mild distaste.

He washed up, got dressed, and set out in search of everybody else. For a while there, when he had helped Al track Edward with the plane, he had been competent. Useful. Now things were back to the way they had been before, where everybody knew their place, and Alfons was the outsider.

Navigating his way through the halls, he only crashed into walls twice while turning corners. At least there was no one around to see him.

When he entered the conference room there was a momentary lull before everybody continued talking, slightly more quietly now. His eyes lit on a small table off to the side, which was piled with food. It was clear that this wasn't meant to be a proper breakfast - or any other sort of meal, for that matter - but scraps for the people running in and out at all hours of the night. Still, there was bread and butter and soft cheese, some fruit, and a tiny kettle sitting atop a portable gas burner. Alfons brewed himself a cup of coffee and decided to drink it black, the way Edward liked it.

Nursing his mug allowed him to pretend he was busy with something, while what he was really doing was eavesdropping surreptitiously. Winry was deep in conversation with Russel's alter, and Alfons nearly panicked before he reminded himself that this Russel did not know about his and Edward's relationship or the subsequent drama with the array, and anyway, neither one was an issue here. No other familiar faces were around, as of now, since Mustang was away. The several soldiers extolling Edward's virtues to Al's eager ears (thankfully) didn't ignite even the slightest hint of recognition.

Al wanted to hear about Ed from pretty much _everybody_, it seemed, except for Alfons. For whatever reason, he had decided that Alfons knew nothing of import, and it was rather silly, but Alfons felt left out. Especially because some part of him was embarrassingly happy over keeping his knowledge of Edward private.

He was just finishing up his impromptu breakfast when Mustang burst into the room, accompanied by three other people, only one of whom was in uniform. There was to be another demonstration, he explained, and wanted Al to come and speak about his brother. Al agreed, though didn't look enthusiastic. Alfons wanted to join them, for a change, but Mustang sternly admonished him to stay.

"If people get wind of you, there could be trouble," he explained. "I want you in here, where I know you're safe."

And then he whisked Al away.

He thought of commiserating with Winry over being left behind, but before he could work up the courage to speak Harris entered. The words fled Alfons' mind, and he was left staring dumbly, a lump in his throat. Harris was _not_ his father.

Winry had places to be, too. She was often taken to see Edward, to repair his automail. Of course, there was absolutely no reason for Alfons to come along. Harris didn't even look at him twice before he left with Winry, trailing her toolkits.

It wasn't like Alfons had been Edward's _lover_ for over two years or anything, Alfons thought bitterly. Here he was just the curiosity from another world, and mostly superfluous. It was like every world had niches for exactly its number of people, and no more. Alfons had managed to make a place for himself after moving to Munich, wandering around America's Midwest, in Boston – but here he couldn't do _anything_.

He threw himself down on a sofa, a deep scowl on his face. He wished he could _talk to_ somebody. He thought of going to a bar, getting drunk, and telling about how in a parallel universe he had built flying machines and owned a gold mine, and chuckled dryly.

The irony was that he didn't even know how people here would react to that. Come to think of it, he didn't really know _anything_ about this world, beyond the stories Edward had told him.

He sat up slowly, and ran his fingers through his hair, noting absently that it was starting to get a bit shaggy.

Assuming that because he could get by in his own world meant he could manage in this one was... frankly, stupid, and he wasn't sure why it hadn't occurred to him before. He looked around the room, letting his eyes stray over the sofas with their curved arms and printed fabric, the faintly flowered wallpaper, and out to the lines of houses visible from the window.

It could be somewhere in Europe, he thought, if not for the bright colors. But it _wasn't_, and the only way to fit in would be to stop making assumptions and start learning about what made _this_ world work, its history, its customs.

And maybe, along the way, he would look up the legal system here and try to get a handle on some of what was happening, and just what the laws concerning alchemy actually were. If he was going to help Edward, he would have to figure out the rules, and fast.

It was time to find a library.

-

He didn't expect there to be any decent books around the hotel, but for the sake of thoroughness he decided to do a quick check anyway. About an hour later he decided that his first impulse had been right, and there was absolutely nothing resembling a library in the building. It was just a tiny bit disappointing, because it would have made things so much easier.

He wouldn't feel sorry for himself; he couldn't. Squaring his shoulders he prepared himself for the next step, and headed for the exit.

All along the way he ran into occasional groups of soldiers, most of them hurrying somewhere, intent on their jobs. Nobody paid Alfons much attention, which made him hopeful. Maybe this would work.

Once or twice along the way he thought he saw a face familiar from another world, and had to resist the urge to turn and stare.

It took him a few wrong turns, but he finally found himself in the lobby. He hesitated for a moment, acutely aware that what passed for an authority figure here had expressly forbidden what he was about to do, then made a firm decision not to care. He headed for the doors.

A soldier, looking about his own age, immediately moved to intercept him.

"You're with the Resembool group, aren't you? We're under orders not to let you out unescorted."

"You may escort me, then," Alfons said, trying not to show his nervousness. "I'm going to the library. You can come happily."

The soldier seemed surprised by his response, and Alfons was pleased. Everything he knew about flouting authority he had learned from Edward, whose advice had been simple: _Keep 'em off balance. _Alfons used the soldier's hesitation to head for the doors once more.

"Hey, wait up!"

Alfons walked a bit faster and tried to calm down. It looked like he wasn't going to be stopped. Finally, he would be able to _do_ something.

Nobody else challenged him on the way out, past all three checkpoints. The soldier dogging his heels made a few small suggestions about going back, which Alfons ignored.

It was a relief to be outside. He hardly realized how much he had missed the sun, staying cooped up inside the hotel all this time. Not even the bitter cold was enough to keep the grin off his face. The city wasn't pretty, with its piles of ploughed snow on streetcorners and trampled brown underfoot, the houses dreary and wet, but to Alfons everything was fresh and exciting.

He turned to his escort, feeling inexplicably cheerful, taking in his solid stature and mousy brown hair.

"What is your name?" he asked.

"Private Carter."

Alfons smiled. "I am Alfons Heiderich. Can you tell me which way to a library – the biggest you have?"

He might not have Edward's insane capacity for study, but he had confidence in himself. Now that he had an actual plan of action, he was certain the situation could only change for the better.

* * *

Walking through Circle Park still disturbed Al. The place was packed with people – people waving signs and calling out slogans, people trampling the grass and the flowers, people with tents, all interspersed with soldiers of a dozen loyalties.

And they were all here because of Ed. Every so often somebody would get up on the wooden stage that had been erected on one of the hills to orate. Mostly, they spoke about how much the government sucked and was incapable of getting anything done, especially releasing the Hero of the People.

Somebody was talking now, telling a (probably fabricated, not that the crowd cared) story about Ed's heroics, and the gathered people listened raptly. Al slid between two men, dodged a few more, and looked around wildly to make sure he was still heading towards Mustang's picketed area.

A shout from the crowd caught his attention – there was a yell about bringing Fullmetal to justice, which the surrounding men quickly suppressed. Despite not actually wanting a person to get lynched, he couldn't suppress the anger at the damage that _scum _could do to Ed. He was happy that there were people around to silence them, but told himself that he was mostly happy that so many people were on Ed's side. No matter how important Mustang claimed these talks of his to be, he would have been out of there in a _second_ if he had anything more useful to do.

Ed was stuck in prison, all by himself, going through who-knew-what, and there was absolutely nothing Al could do for him but praise him in the ears of a bunch of people who couldn't really do anything about it either. At least it was better than being stuck at Mustang's base all day, the way Mustang kept Alfons.

Nobody recognized him in this mess, which wasn't surprising. Without Ed's coat he was virtually invisible.

He reached the stakeout of Mustang and his men, who let him through the small perimeter.

"Good, you're here," Mustang said distractedly, holding out a paper for him. "Here, when that guy's finished it's your turn – go up, talk about Edward-"

"Yeah, yeah," Al said. He knew the drill, already, and snatched the paper out of Mustang's hands. He scanned it, noting the major points Mustang wanted him to cover in his speech (after which Mustang would probably go and tell the people, once again, why if Mustang had been in charge none of this would have happened).

"Remember to keep mentions of Fullmetal's temper to a minimum," Mustang said. "The last thing we need is to have the papers going on about 'the Homicidal Alchemist's violent tendencies as a teenager' again."

"I _know_," Al snapped, flushing against his will. He had cursed himself for that slip the moment he had seen the headlines that evening. "I'm not a child." He glanced up at Mustang, noticing how the man had already put on his veneer of calm control for the people's benefit. "I suppose you don't want me to mention how he never got along with you and thought you were a bastard, either," he said snidely.

"That would be advisable." Now Mustang didn't look nearly so cool. Served him right.

He was so damn sick of tacking on little praises of Mustang, but at the same time, he was afraid to do otherwise. At least Mustang knew what he was doing; all Al would have been able to think of was breaking Ed out of prison, but he was starting to realize that this whole mess was a lot bigger than just the two of them. Even if Ed were freed, it wouldn't send these crowds home.

He turned his back, and busied himself by pretending to skim the sheet again. Mustang was on their side, he reminded himself. Sort of - because none of these people could be trusted with Ed's well-being, not really. Well, maybe except for Alfons, but Alfons was sort of useless.

The speaker finished, and left the stage to a chorus of cheers interspersed with a few boos. Al swallowed, pushing away his nervousness, and went to put on the red coat. It was no longer just a coat Ed had worn, no longer a symbol of the bond they shared, but something bigger, representing a larger idea – one that people all over Amestris were adopting for themselves. He didn't like it.

He climbed up onto the stage, and the crowd roared approval. When Al started speaking, the individual faces in the sea before him blurred, became unimportant. Now he could ignore the signs and the soldiers, and just focus on the words that were his own, and not Mustang's, the words that he truly believed in. Ed was innocent, and Ed was a hero, and deserved so much more than what he had gotten.

When all was said and done, that was what he was truly here to make sure people knew.

* * *

"...you remember I told you about the student demonstrations in North City?" Harris asked, rustling a newspaper. "Well, it's gotten worse – the faculty joined... demonstrations throughout the city... that was for the past few days. Yesterday," he exchanged his paper for another, "they beat up some members of the ANP... troops were brought in, said they had to disperse." More rustling. "Today riots broke out... two students were shot to death, property damage all along-"

"Oh my god," Ed managed, wishing he dared bring up his hands to block the sound of Harris' voice. The man paused in his summary, though too late to give him any relief.

"I don't understand.... Why?" he demanded, his voice cracking. "Why are they doing this?"

So many times Al, Mustang, Winry, who-the-hell-ever had told him that he had to stop taking responsibility for everything, that he was not at fault nearly as much as he thought. Well, they were wrong, he thought in a miserable sort of spite. _This_ was his fucking fault. And it was worse than anything he had managed to do while actually being in this world!

"Elric," Harris snapped, slamming a hand down on the table between them. "This self-flagellation has got to stop. You wanted to be kept up-to-date, but I'm going to stop if it makes you react like this every time."

Ed swallowed, straightening his shoulders in an attempt to look less pathetic. Keeping his head straight seemed to take more of a conscious effort, these days. "I'm sorry."

He had to hear it, because people were being hurt because of him. And because there wasn't much else for Harris to talk to him about, at this stage of things, and once they ran out of what to say Ed would be returned to his cell.

"What about the trial?" he asked, trying a different tack. "Do I have a date yet?"

Harris sighed in frustration. "That was the third time you asked me that today."

"Oh, right." Ed was certain his face was flushed in embarrassment. The answer hadn't changed: There was still no agreement on who would try him, but now Drachma had started to interfere, using the unrest at the borders as an excuse. He swallowed around the dryness in his throat, thought of weeks – months – more of this.

Ed groped for something to say. "How's Al doing? Is he okay? When can I see him?"

Harris sighed, making apprehension run through Ed. He wasn't going to like this, he just knew it.

"There is... extreme reluctance to allow you to meet with your brother. They're afraid he'll break you out of jail. He's quite the accomplished alchemist, you know."

Against his will, Ed felt a small smile on his face. Of course he knew Al was amazing. He opened his mouth to say that he would promise to stay put, if it meant having Al visit, but his voice died. That wasn't a promise he could make, because if Al were to make such an offer... he wasn't sure if he could refuse, consequences be damned. Lying about that wouldn't be fair to Harris, who _was_ trying to help him, so he remained silent.

"If we're through, here, then I should be going," Harris said. Ed fought down a stab of panic, which must have showed on his face, because Harris continued: "You know how difficult it is to arrange these meetings. I had best not overstay my welcome."

He had already asked about Alfons, he thought. What else could he ask?

"And Winry?" the words tumbled out of him. "My arm is still sticking, and she hasn't been here in ages-"

"She was here yesterday," Harris said tiredly. "I know your arm isn't completely fixed yet. I'll try to arrange for her to come tomorrow."

Papers rustled as they were returned to Harris' briefcase, and there was general scraping and thumping as he stood up and prepared to leave. Ed's heart was racing so hard he was sure it had to be audible by now. Harris was going to leave now, and he probably wouldn't see anybody until tomorrow.

A plea for Harris to stay just a bit longer was on the tip of his tongue, but he restrained himself. He refused to be so pathetic, and stubbornly remained silent as Harris bid him farewell, and the door clanged shut behind him. Everybody had their jobs to do, and he was expected to deal with this.

It was just loneliness. He was being an idiot.

The guards heaved him to his feet, led him shuffling down the corridor. He tried not to think of the cell that waited for him, empty and silent.

A cold sweat broke out on his skin, and he found himself digging in his heels. Of course it didn't help; the guards just dragged him along, and finally shoved him inside hard enough to send him toppling, lancing pain through his ribs and bruises.

Heavy footsteps receded, muffled through the door of his cell, and finally faded to silence. Ed groped his way to the bed and sat down on it, pulling his knees to his chest. He would not have visitors for another twelve hours at least, he thought. At some point the monotony would be broken by food, which he always tried to make last as long as he could. But it wasn't nearly enough to fill up the long stretches of emptiness that made up his days.

His heavy breathing was all he could hear, and he tried to keep his ears from straining – like his eyes – for some input.

Counting minutes wouldn't make time pass any faster. He thought of trying to sleep, but he wasn't tired enough. Nonetheless, he lay down on the hard mattress, composed his mind, and spent some time tossing and turning before he sat up again and leaned against the wall. The chill penetrated his thin shirt, so he pulled the equally thin blanket up around his shoulders.

Surely half an hour had passed, by now? That left only about eleven and a half hours. Unless Harris was late.

Automatically his mind strayed toward alchemy, but he forced his thoughts away. Alchemy could no longer be his refuge. Pretty much _anything _scientific was a risk, right now. For as long as he could, he would have to withstand the temptation.

He sighed, ignored the hitch in his breath. His cough was abating, finally, the obnoxious virus finally defeated. If only Alfons' illness were so easy to overcome.

He needed a distraction. He had already measured the dimensions of his cell – and everything in it – in handspans. Finger-lengths, though, that would be new. He took the three steps to the door, and started in the corner next to it, scooting across the floor on his knees as he advanced.

_Twenty five. Twenty six. _Just another eleven – definitely eleven, after so long, right? - hours. He wiped his clammy hand on the thigh of his pants and tried to force himself to calm. Eleven hours, and all he had done was the length of the floor. There was plenty more to measure.

In the silence, his straining ears caught half-imagined voices, just beyond the threshold of audibility. His hands itched to cover his ears, but he refused stubbornly. _Fourty nine._ They weren't real._ Fifty. _There was nobody out there, nothing to hear. Eventually they were replaced by ringing silence once more.

_Fifty one._

Eleven hours. It wasn't that long. He had spent longer hours alone in the library.

He pretended that there hadn't been stretches like this for the past... days, and that it wouldn't continue like this for who knew how long. There was no future beyond the eleven hours he had to get through until he saw Harris again. He sat back, leaned against the wall, suddenly sick to death of the stupidity of measuring the entirety of his goddamn cell in finger-lengths.

This could have been another one of his stories. He thought of how he would tell Alfons about it, but of course it was different now. Alfons knew it was all true, which took the morbid fun out of it.

The thought of Alfons just depressed him, so he cast about for anything else to mull over.

His mind drifted a bit, thinking of aerodynamics and fuel ratios until he forced the thoughts away.

Ten and a half hours, by now? Probably. Definitely. Ten and a half.

In the distance he thought he could hear whispering.

* * *

Alfons paused at the corner of Trent Avenue, considering. He knew which way he was supposed to go; the same way he went every day, turn right onto September Twenty-Fourth Road and then straight until he reached the street of Mustang's base. To the left was one of the places he was very definitely not supposed to go, the inner city prison housing Edward.

He looked longingly up the street, biting his lip.

He knew exactly where the prison was. He had memorized the map, knew down to the minute how long it should take him to arrive at the doors. Winry's descriptions of the place left him with a clear picture in his mind's eye of the ugly brick-and-cement building, surrounded by high walls.

He shot a glance sideways at Carter, considering.

The hell with it.

Deliberately he turned up September Twenty-Fourth, heart pounding in his chest. He wasn't used to being disobedient like this, but damn it, how long were they planning to keep them apart?

Carter followed him without a word. Either the soldier didn't know (fat chance), or for whatever reason, had decided not to get involved.

He could always pretend he had gotten lost or something. Or that he had spontaneously forgotten the language, which was equally improbable.

Every step felt like an advance deeper into dangerous enemy territory.

It became increasingly obvious that things were happening in this area. Soldiers stood in menacing groups, keeping careful watch over civilians and a suspicious eye on each other. Alfons was abruptly glad of Carter, who kept pace with him, hands ready on his gun. The crowds here were noisier, too, an ominous undercurrent to the sounds of their voices. Here and there were groups of people with signs, shooting glares at the soldiers.

"Alfons," Carter began, his eyes roving from side to side, "this isn't the safest of places."

"I know." But at that moment, he didn't really care. It made him nervous, though, bringing back flashes of Germany during the war, only somehow it looked less grim in the bright colors of this world. He thought suddenly of how vivid the red of blood was, here, and his steps slowed.

He didn't actually have the courage to go through with it. This world was too alien, and he couldn't shake the fear of doing something wrong. He would have turned back, then, but commotion up ahead drew his attention. Reporters were flocking to a person who Alfons managed to recognize as Winry before she vanished into the crowd.

He exchanged a questioning glance with Carter.

"Maybe we should go help her out," Carter suggested. "Reporters can be nasty."

Alfons nodded in slight apprehension. He was supposed to stay away from attention, but....

They began to push through the tangle of people who mostly ignored them, Alfons' height helping them from being shoved off course. Winry fielded the questions, but her temper was obviously getting the better of her.

He was just considering how best to help, when her eyes met his and widened in shock.

"Alfons?" she stammered, and immediately Alfons found himself the center of attention, and several flashbulbs went off in his face. Shit. Mustang was going to kill him.

"What are you doing here?"

"I, uh," he began, suddenly horribly conscious of his accent, and the skritching of pens busily writing down his words. "I was in the area...." Almost before he finished speaking, questions were being pelted at him.

"What is your relation to Miss Rockbell?" "Why do you look like Alphonse Elric? Are you a member of the family?" "What is your opinion on the recent actions of the military in the south?"

He didn't know what to do, and hated being so off balance. He tried to fob them off with a "I have nothing to say," but that only made people scribble faster.

"Alfons, get out of here!" Winry shouted, looking furious, but unable to push through the crowds. Maybe if he....

He doubled over, faking a cough that irritated his throat to the point where he started choking in earnest. Several of the reporters stepped back in uncertainty, and he could hear Winry shouting that he was sick, he needed help, _get out of the goddamn way_.

From the corner of his eye he saw Winry shove and smack her way to him, now straightforwardly violent about getting them away from the horde, assisted by Carter. He stumbled his way through, and was thankful when he found himself sitting on a bench, lightheaded, but with the cough dying down.

"I'm fine," he said, trying to wave her away. It hadn't been a true attack, though his chest did hurt.

"A minute ago you looked like you were going to faint," she said sternly, and took his wrist to check his pulse. Alfons shifted, uncomfortably aware that this was very much _not_ the Winifred he knew, and afraid of being too familiar with her.

"I was exaggerating," he said sheepishly, looking away. "I thought it would help us get out of there." Anything to get Winry to back off.

"You were _faking_ it?" she asked incredulously.

He swallowed. "Not entirely-" He broke off with a yelp as she smacked him on the back of the head. For a moment he didn't move, having absolutely no clue how he was supposed to respond. She tended to smack Edward and Al around, did that mean she was starting to accept him?

Tentatively, he grinned up at her, which must have been the right response in some sort of weird way, because she huffed and rolled her eyes.

"At least we shook them off," she conceded. "Let's get out of here."

They started walking, a bit slower than usual because his lungs were still aching. He didn't want to complain, though. Actually, he really wanted to try and capitalize on the sort-of moment of friendship they had had, but didn't know how.

And she kept on shooting him these little calculating glances, which just made him more nervous. Face it, he told himself, nothing had really changed between them, and there was no point in being disappointed. If it was all the same to her, he might as well ask about what he really wanted to know.

"So," he said, trying to sound nonchalant but probably failing, "how is Edward doing?" Just the thought of news about him was enough to set his heart racing with worry.

"The usual," she said. "He wants me to tell you all that he's doing great and having a wonderful time." She rolled her eyes. "Of course, he looks terrible. But his bruising seems to be getting better. There's no new damage to his automail."

Alfons found himself clenching his fists at the mental images her words conjured up, and forced himself to relax. He couldn't do anything for Edward right now, though he ached to lash out against _something, _find a target to vent his fear on.

"He's shutting down, though," she said slowly. "Not that he _ever_ used to tell us what was going on."

The fact that Edward was moping alone wasn't surprising, but Alfons couldn't help but articulate what he had been wondering about for a while now. In Germany, Edward had been far more talkative than Alfons had really welcomed. It had petered off, after a while, but even in America Edward had confided in him. "Do you mean that he was really like that?" he asked. "Did Edward never speak to you about what happened to him?"

Winry let out a slightly bitter laugh, which surprised him. "He _never_ told us what was going on with him. I would hardly expect him to start now."

"He wasn't like that in Germany," Alfons had to say. He didn't like where this was going. Was this another way in which 'his' Edward didn't match up with the one everybody else knew? "He would always tell me stories, even when I didn't want to hear them, because they were horrible. Even when I didn't believe him."

He prayed for recognition of this trait, but there was none. Winry didn't answer, skeptical. She had no reason to believe him, Alfons thought unhappily, and hadn't ever seen Edward behave that way. For all he knew, she thought he was exaggerating his own importance to get attention.

He found himself hoping she would ask the questions so obvious on her face, giving him an excuse to talk more. It was a risk, telling how close they had been, but he was getting so _frustrated_ at being shunted aside constantly.

If they knew Edward so well, couldn't they _see_ when something was important to him? The thought that Edward wasn't giving them any reason to think Alfons was important didn't bear thinking about.

"Oh," Winry said suddenly, catching his attention. "I can't believe I forgot to tell you. A few days ago Edward said to tell you he was sorry."

Alfons stared. "Sorry for what?"

"I don't know, I figured you would."

"Why would he say something like that?" Alfons asked. What could Edward possibly have managed to do to him while_ sitting in prison_?

"I told him you were having a difficult time here, and-"

"You _what_?" Alfons practically shouted, grabbing her by the shoulders and spinning her around to face him. No way. Of all the things Edward could never, ever know – "Why would you – what were you thinking -" he stammered.

Winry shrugged pointedly, and he dropped his hands from her shoulders as if burned, but didn't back down.

"He always asks after you, what, was I supposed to _lie_ to him?" she said defensively. "You hate it here!"

"_You told him I hate it here_?" he shouted, nearly blinded with panicked fury. Even before they had left America – practically before they had left _Germany_, Edward had been crippled with fear that Alfons would hate this world. And now Winry went and – and –

His face must have been a sight, because Carter grabbed him by the shoulder and told him gruffly not to hurt the lady, and Winry frowned.

"I did _not_ tell him you hate it here," she said frostily, all traces of the brief fondness for him vanished, but at the point Alfons didn't really care.

"_Scheisse_," he said helplessly, looking around. He looked back up the way they had come, considering running to the prison for a wild moment, demanding to see Edward and tell him that it wasn't true. He didn't hate Amestris. He couldn't allow himself to.

If there had been even the slightest chance of success he wouldn't have thought twice, but he knew better. His shoulders slumped, and he forced his fists to unclench.

He turned back to Winry. "Next time you talk to him, you _must_ tell him I'm fine," he said, trying to make her understand how important this was. "You must tell him to hurry up and get out of prison so he can see for himself."

"Fine," she snapped, too quickly for Alfons' comfort, but there wasn't anything else he could do. He continued walking, his mind far off. His agitation made him walk too fast, and he kept on having to stop and gasp to ease the pain in his lungs.

It didn't help that now he was afraid he had somehow said too much, because he could feel Winry's eyes on him the entire way. But with Edward in the state he surely was in, he couldn't really bring himself to care.

-

For the rest of the day Alfons found himself preoccupied, unable to think of anything else. His situation was rapidly becoming unbearable, but he didn't know what to do about it. He was helpless, and he hated it.

During dinner, he listened to the conversation with half an ear. Al updated Winry on the status around the city, and told her there were now demonstrations in South City as well, but no violence yet. Central was still quiet, though Al's public appearances kept tempers at a fever pitch. Al sounded worried, but Alfons couldn't really bring himself to care. At least Al wasn't practically an outcast.

After dinner he tried to read, but couldn't concentrate on anything. In the end, he took out his Testament, opened it at a random page, and sat reading it with a borrowed mirror until his head ached. It was mildly comforting. The others were spread about the room, each one in their own little patch of lamplight, mostly reading quietly.

When the door opened to reveal Mustang and Harris, Alfons nearly jumped out of his skin in startlement, but then deliberately set his book aside. He leapt to his feet, intent on – he wasn't sure what, but it involved a way to get to see Edward – but Harris brushed him off, hardly looking at him.

"Not now, son," he said. "We've got news."

Being called 'son' was enough to shock Alfons into momentary silence, the sound of it twisting right through him. Thank God Harris didn't speak German, or Alfons might not be able to deal with it at all.

"What news?" Al demanded, calling his attention back. Now wasn't the time to moon over his lost parents. He pulled up a chair, pushed his emotions aside, and focused on the here and now.

"There's a trial date," Harris said, sounding satisfied, and Alfons' heart leapt. "A week and a half from now. It starts on Wednesday."

Alfons' breath shallowed. It was so soon, and at the same time seemed years away. Somehow, he had thought they could have continued like this indefinitely – frittering away hours in worry, watching the others come and go and sometimes hear from them how Edward was doing, holing up in what was rapidly becoming 'his' corner of the library, pretending he was making progress.

"Military or civil court?" Winry asked, her voice strained.

"Neither," Mustang said. "It's going to be an international trial. There will be three judges, representing Creta, Aerugo, and Drachma."

Al was quick to take offense. "Why the hell is it any business of _theirs_?"

Which was a good question, actually. Alfons wracked his brains for any mention of the surrounding countries from Edward, but couldn't think of much. He didn't think they interacted often, though Edward had expressed a dislike of Drachma.

"This actually works in our favor," Mustang snapped, "and I'll have you know it was damned difficult to negotiate."

"How?" Al refused to back down.

"Because both Creta and Aerugo want peaceful borders, and have an interest in justice being done. With them, we actually have a fighting chance. Drachma will probably want him convicted-"

"Because they've been funding those damn ANP generals up north for the past two years," Mustang muttered, interrupting Harris. "They're just waiting for a civil war to break out so they can sweep in and claim territories."

Alfons made a mental note to be more thorough about checking newspapers as part of his research, no matter now annoying reading the tiny print was.

"That hasn't been proven," Harris said, slightly reproachfully.

"Everybody knows it."

The two of them were on the verge of descending into argument, and nobody wanted to get caught in the middle of it. Alfons decided he didn't care.

"Can we win?" he asked, a horrible possibility suddenly rising in his mind. Until now, Edward had seemed relatively safe – at least, there was an interest in keeping him alive, but now things would change. Edward would be tried, and at some point there would be a verdict. Nobody promised it would be the one they wanted.

Harris straightened up and met his eyes, and for a moment Alfons forgot Harris looked like his father, so intent was he on the answer.

"With the case the way it is, no reasonable court can convict Edward Elric of the Lior massacre."

The reservations in the sentence were glaringly obvious, even though he didn't know much about this world. _If_ nothing new turned up on the case, _if_ the court was reasonable – two very big ifs.

"Another issue," Mustang said, turning suddenly to him, "is _what were you thinking_ and why is your picture all over the evening papers? I thought I told you to lie low!"

Panic stabbed at him, quickly overwhelmed by the fury from earlier. Now Mustang bothered to notice him? When he stopped staying nicely in his little corner?

The frustration that had been building all day boiled over, and he hardly cared _who_ Mustang was, or what he might do to him.

"You expect me to sit here doing nothing all day, while you find ways to help Edward?" he snapped. "You will not let me see Edward, you will not let me leave this hotel – maybe you will just lock me in my room and be done!" He was breathing heavily, and he could feel eyes on him, though he didn't move his from Mustang's dark ones.

Nobody spoke up for him. Typical.

"What is it you want?" Mustang asked, narrowing his eyes. Alfons nearly laughed, the answer was so obvious.

"I want to meet with him." It was such a relief to finally say it, though Winry's calculating look from earlier was back.

He could almost feel the victory, if he held out another moment Mustang might just concede-

"I'm his _brother_ and they haven't let me see him!" Al snarled. He slammed a fist down on the table, dragging the attention away from Alfons. "Why should _you_?"

"Winry says there is something wrong with him," Alfons said intensely, desperately hoping to capture their attention again. He was _so close_! "I have known him these past three years-"

"He's _my_ brother!" Al interrupted, as if they could forget.

_I'm his lover_, Alfons thought briefly of saying, but dismissed it almost immediately. He couldn't imagine confessing, not like this. Not when he didn't even know how or when Edward wanted to tell. It was up to Edward to decide how he wanted to play this; it was his world, his family, and Alfons would follow his lead.

Even Mustang was getting sick of their back-and-forth argument, though. He leaned back in his chair and exchanged a glance with Harris.

"We were negotiating for more lax security anyway," he said, and Alfons felt a flare of hope. "Getting him more visiting hours is definitely a must. I'm not happy with the fact that they're keeping him in isolation."

"And you're _wondering _what's wrong with him?" Alfons couldn't keep himself from muttering, angry again. "I'm surprised he hasn't gone mad yet."

"There weren't any other options," Harris said, sounding just a bit defensive. "In his condition, he would be in serious danger with any of the other prisoners."

"And he's not in danger _now_?" Alfons demanded. "You keep telling me how the guards are beating him-"

"Better the guards than the other prisoners-" Mustang began heavily, but Al cut him off.

"Do you even _hear_ yourself?" Al said, as horrified as Alfons. "Do you even give a damn about what he's going through?" Mustang would have spoken, but Al continued quickly. "You keep telling me what I'm doing is for _his_ sake, but I don't see it helping anything but your political career!"

That cut deep, and Alfons felt a thrill of victory. He and Al were on the same side, once again – and they were making progress.

"That is not true," Mustang said, cold as ice, his eyes narrowed. "You are speaking like a child, Alphonse."

"What do you think Edward thinks?" Alfons said, catching his attention away from Al. "Edward sits alone in his cell, do you not think he wonders why Al will not see him? Why I will not?"

"He knows why you can't see him," Harris cut in. "I've explained it to him a thousand times. Alphonse is a walking security risk, from the military's point of view."

"You never even _asked_ me if I would try anything!" Al shouted.

Mustang stood up, Al scrambling to his feet almost immediately after. "If you are capable of making such willfully childish claims, how do you expect the military to take your word seriously?"

"I'm not a liar!"

Suddenly Winry was on her feet as well, and Alfons knew that she could tip the scales, cow Al into silence-

"They allow _me_ in to see Ed," she said. "With a whole toolbox. I could install a gun in his arm and blast him out of there, if I wanted to."

"Do you enjoy controlling us?" Alfons asked Mustang, refusing to give up the offensive. It wasn't fair in the least, but he didn't care. Al was looking at him with appreciation, and Winry was on their side; he was no longer alone, and he wasn't useless.

"This is not about control," Mustang said, his voice tight. But Alfons could see the doubt in his eyes. "Do you think you are the only ones who lie awake nights and worry about Ed? We need more people on our side, and any mistake on my part could lose us – and Ed – valuable allies. I can't afford to make promises I'm not a hundred percent sure I can stand by."

"Still, they make a good point," Harris said into the slightly abashed silence. "It would be a good idea to arrange more visiting time for Edward. I don't like his current mood, I want to go into the trial at his best – well, as good as he can get, in his current state," he amended. "We should find a way to allow Alphonse in to see him."

Alfons' satisfaction turned instantly to bitter disappointment. It was better than nothing, he told himself. Once they were convinced Al should see Edward, it was only a matter of time until Alfons convinced them, too. Anyway, Al was the one Edward hadn't seen in four years; Alfons had been with him practically the entire time. He told himself it was only right this way, that it was better, that it would make Edward happier, and didn't really believe any of it.

Al was probably pleased with this turn of events, which did nothing for his mood. He was just getting ready to storm off, when Winry's voice made everything shudder to a halt.

"Alfons, too," she said, not looking at him. "It will do Ed good to se- to talk to him."

Everybody was looking at him again, and he could feel himself flushing under the blatant questions in their gazes. His mind was reeling. There was no way Winry knew the truth; it simply wasn't a possibility. But if so, why was she speaking up for him? It had infuriated Al, and drawn both Harris' and Mustang's attention to him, gained her nothing he could see.

He swallowed. Hiding his feelings while under such scrutiny might be nigh impossible. Maybe Winry intended to make him expose himself?

Mustang threw his arms up. "What the hell. Why not, if we're at it."

A grin spread over Alfons' face, and he couldn't bring himself to care, his worries thrown to the winds. Let them think what they wanted.

* * *

Of course, Al still got to see him first. It must not have been nearly as difficult as Harris had made it out to be, or the little argument had rattled Mustang more than he had let on, but only two days later they announced that Al would be allowed to see his brother.

Not that it was entirely simple. Al was made to sign a whole collection of statements that he would make no attempt at breaking Edward out, using alchemy in his vicinity, or even _thinking_ of using alchemy. He would have to leave behind his transmutation gloves (which Al complained about), and consent to being searched in case he tried to sneak in anything.

Al grumbled at the stipulations, whereas all Alfons could do was hang around the sidelines during the whole conversation and try not to be utterly consumed by envy. Al was getting to see Edward. What was there to complain about?

Finally they left, and Alfons stood at the window watching the small procession until they vanished from view, and even then couldn't bring himself to leave. He had desperately wanted to send Edward a message through Al, but Al had been even more hostile towards him these past few days, ever since the argument. Either Al was angry at him for being instrumental in acquiring permission to see Edward, or he was annoyed that Winry had backed up Alfons' claims of significance. Maybe both.

He was fairly sure that his analysis was correct, and sort of disturbed by the insight.

He was nothing like Al. He could never remember himself being so childish, so possessive, so antagonistic to the whole world. On the other hand, he though uncomfortably, if he had lost four years of his life – both age and memory of – and found himself in a world mysteriously lacking a brother, he would probably be pretty pissed off.

Al was going to have to own up to his lost memories, sooner or later, he thought. It would not be pretty.

Tired of thinking in circles about his doub- about Al, he unfolded himself from the window and headed back to his room to read. He had sneaked a book out with him last time, a bit tired of spending so long in the library.

Adding to the discomfort was the fact that he had no money at all, and couldn't buy himself food on the go unless he asked for some. He'd rather stay on base, where he was still freeloading, true, but at least in a less blatantly obvious manner.

He read for a few hours, first in the common room, then in an armchair by the window in his room, and finally in bed. All in all he covered two hundred pages, but felt like he had learned nothing from them.

He set the book aside and lay back, staring at the ceiling, watching the shadows move across it. A trial could take months, maybe longer. How long would these people put up with him for Edward's sake? If he had to go out and find a job, what could he possibly _do_? Oh, maybe he remembered some things about keeping a farm from way back, but not enough to keep him going. Anyway, he didn't want to be a farmer. He was an academician.

In a country with little-to-no academia.

Damn it. He slammed a fist down on the bed next to him, and held it there, quivering. Why couldn't Edward have ever _mentioned_ that tiny, insignificant fact that he was _wanted for mass murder_? Had Edward even thought about what would happen once they were through?

Why did Alfons have to figure this all out by himself?

Al returned that evening practically glowing. He tried to be self-deprecating, and made much of how he couldn't _really_ talk to Edward properly because what kind of conversation could they hold in a cell containing about twenty soldiers with guns? - but his eyes shone all the same. Al was happy to tell everybody about how brave Edward was for coping with the beatings, how thin he was, how much the prison and the guards and the government sucked for treating him that way. Alfons drank up the words, and reminded himself that the meeting had probably done wonders for Edward's state of mind. Several times.

He should get nominated for sainthood, Alfons thought to himself. He sat in the corner of the room, brooding, chin resting on clasped hands. Al had disengaged himself from the people he had been talking to, and was now walking in Alfons' direction. Just what he needed, _another_ gloating session.

Al stopped in front of him, and Alfons hardly bothered to hide the unwelcoming expression on his face. Still, Al was undeterred, and opened his mouth to speak, looking anywhere but at Alfons.

"I told Brother you're going to be visiting him, too."

What?

Alfons stared up at him, having no clue where this had come from.

"He's looking forward to it." Al hesitated another moment, waiting, but before Alfons could scrape together something intelligent to say he had mumbled something and fled.

Great. He stared down at the flowered pattern on the carpet, and for once, was embarrassed to have misjudged Al.

-

Another day at the library, lacking much else to do. The trial date was nearing, and he had yet to see hide or hair of Edward, so he tried to keep himself distracted by reading.

Alfons closed the book with a sigh, adding it to the heap of half-finished ones surrounding him. It had seemed like such a smart idea, at first; learn about this world. He had started by reading the verdicts of alchemical cases, hoping to gain insight, but kept on getting distracted by laws and precedents he knew nothing about. That made him drag out the books on law, and then history, which cycled right back to alchemy. His English was good, but not enough to keep up with the small differences that kept throwing him off, and certainly not enough to keep him from developing a headache from the effort to understand so much, so quickly.

He tried taking notes, but gave it up quickly as a lost cause. Quite simply, there was far too much here for him to ever grasp.

Alfons put his head in his hands, and tried to keep his teeth from clenching. He had chosen this. Following Edward had been a completely conscious decision. It had been logical at the time. Or rather, romantic. High adventure.

He looked up at the stack of books, the letters blurring into nonsense in front of him. He told himself, again, that Edward had learned to function in his world, to be independent, and against far greater odds than Alfons was facing. Imagining that everything would magically be better if only he had Edward around to smooth the way for him was childish. He hadn't come here so Edward could be his crutch, he came because... he...

Something about fame and fortune and making Edward happy.

Damn it. He shoved the chair away from the table, allowed his eyes to catch on the late afternoon sun slanting in from the window. Even the sunlight was different, bright enough to hurt his eyes at such a late hour.

All this was _bullshit_, because Edward hadn't ever acclimated to his world. Edward had leaned on his father, and then leaned on Alfons, and got through his days with the desperate belief that he would one day return home. He had bucked the system because he hadn't cared about it in the first place, and succeeded because he didn't really expect consequences.

Maybe Professor Hohenheim had managed, but Alfons would never know, now. Which left him back at the beginning: nobody had ever successfully made the transfer into a new universe.

What if the trial took years? The one person who really knew him might be out of his reach for a long time, and there was nothing he could do about it.

Alfons exhaled a sigh, and looked down at his hands, which lay uselessly in his lap. But for Edward, he was alone.

That thought made him shove the self-pity aside and reach blindly for another book, to make another attempt at understanding this world. Now, though, he recognized the edge of desperation for what it was.

Right now, aside from Edward, he had _nothing_. He would do whatever it took not to lose that.

-

The announcement, when it came, was so anticlimactic it left him breathless.

"Be ready tomorrow at ten," Harris said to him, at the end of yet another session of 'what not to say to the press, especially during the trial', on Sunday night. "I got permission to take you in." Not having anything more to say, he bid his goodbyes and left, all before Alfons managed to wrap his mind around what was happening.

He was going to see Edward. It had been _ages,_ a month practically since he had last seen him, and suddenly the hours until ten o'clock the next morning were unbearable.

Winry caught his eye, and he belatedly wiped what must have been the craziest smile in the world off his face and tried not to show how this affected him.

For another half hour he pretended to read, but could hardly keep from squirming in his chair with nerves. From everybody else's reports, he expected Edward to look like crap, to be exhausted and unhappy, but none of that was new to Alfons. He had dealt with Edward in far direr straits. He turned a page, chewed his knuckle, and tried to quiet his heart. Remembered, with vivid suddenness, cuddling up to a pale Edward, weak from drawing blood, petting his hair and kissing his temple.

All the suppressed longing washed over him in a tidal wave, no longer willing to be denied.

"I'm going to bed," he announced distractedly. He checked the page in his book, closed it, then realized he had no clue what page he had just seen and started flipping through, trying to reclaim his place.

"It's only eight thirty," Al observed from across the room, sounding skeptical.

"Yeah, I am," Alfons said, not hearing a word, and gave up on the page. He floated towards the exit, his mind replaying Harris' words over and over, and only snapped out of it when he realized he had somehow made his way to his room without noticing the hallways in between. He threw himself down on his bed without even bothering to undress.

What if Edward _wasn't_ happy to see him? What if- what if-

What would he say first? Tell Edward how much he missed him? Joke about bumping into walls, just to get a smile onto his face? What must he not mention under any circumstances, aside from all the day-to-day difficulties?

For a while he dozed, plagued by nonsensical dreams of flying trains, and disturbing ones of searching for Edward in a maze-like prison compound, following his voice only to find an empty room and a dead end. He jerked awake, searching blindly for Edward next to him before remembering why he wasn't there.

Stupid, he thought, fumbling for his watch to check the time. It had been so long since they had last shared a bed, and he _still_ couldn't keep things straight?

It was too dark to see the watch face, and he spent a few minutes turning it this way and that, trying to catch some light from the moon. Turning on the lamp was too much trouble, so he finally set the watch aside with a curse, rolled over, and pulled the blanket around his shoulders with more force than necessary. All he achieved was letting in some cold air.

He stared at the blackness, feeling far too awake, and thought again of his lover. Tentatively, he whispered Edward's name in the dark, and refused to feel embarrassed.

Tomorrow.

If only it would _come_, already.

-

He spent the morning pacing, pausing every so often to look at the clock. Time crawled, and its slowness only served to wind him up further. By now it was probably blatantly obvious to everybody that he wasn't acting normal in the least.

It was ten o'clock – and Harris wasn't there. Alfons paced furious circles around the room, even faster than before, his mind already full of scenarios which would prevent his meeting Edward.

Harris showed up five minutes later, and had no clue why Alfons nearly attacked him. For once, the sight of him awoke nothing in Alfons, who was far more intent on their destination.

The walk there was both instantaneous and interminable. A wheeze started, deep in his chest, signaling that he was walking far too quickly, but it wasn't bad enough to slow him down much.

And then – they were standing before the building Alfons had never before dared approach, and it looked just as dank and sinister as he had always imagined. Not the sort of place Edward should be in.

Even then, some part of him believed that they wouldn't make it, that the guards would stop them, but nobody did. Soldiers stood aside, obviously expecting them, and Alfons felt their eyes on his back as he passed. Inside, he was patted down for weapons, asked a whole series of questions which kept repeating themselves, intended to figure out whether he had some dark plan to spirit Edward out of there, or any other such mischief. Alfons found them frustrating; couldn't they see he had nothing to hide, after the first round or so?

Eventually they let him through, looking disappointed they had no grounds to stop him.

The further in they went, the more Alfons the walls closed in on him. He could no longer count the gates that separated him from freedom. Sometimes he could hear voices down cross-corridors, and once they came across a guard urging a prisoner along. Alfons couldn't help his horror at seeing the man – a murderer, probably, his hair cut short, the life gone from his eyes. This place was enough to leech the life out of _anybody_, what would it do to Edward? In what world was it _right_ for Edward to be sharing space with some of the worst scum of humanity?

Harris followed him, two steps behind. Alfons wouldn't be allowed to meet with Edward alone, he had explained. At the time, Alfons hadn't thought to protest, but now the knowledge of his presence was starting to grate. He wanted Edward all to himself.

They stopped before yet another locked door of dull metal. One of the guards reached over to take off the padlock, and slid the bolt aside with a clang. Alfons could hardly hear anything over the sound of his heart hammering in his chest.

He took in the cell, a split-second's impression of empty concrete walls, the one door they had entered by, heavy steel table bolted to the floor with a few chairs around it, far too many people for a room that size. All that was secondary, though, because there was _Edward_.

Almost without noticing, Alfons took the few steps to the table and slid into a chair, hardly daring believe his eyes. His first thought, inanely, was that Edward's hair was a mess and it was probably annoying him no end. It was better than looking at the dark circles under his eyes (he wasn't sleeping – no surprise there), the yellowing bruises punctuating his skin, the slumped cant of his shoulders, the ugly bluish-gray prison uniform that looked horrible on him and made his skin even more washed out under the harsh fluorescent.

Edward's hands were chained to the table in front of him, a disgustingly punitive precaution that was obviously just meant to humiliate.

He found his voice. "Hey," he said, "it's me," and then felt sort of stupid for stating the obvious. For a moment he was off-balance, unsure what he was doing in the cell with this Edward, who seemed utterly alien.

Then Edward sort of laughed, and snapped back into familiarity, all the more painful because of that brief lapse. "Yeah," he said.

Alfons hesitated for a moment, glancing aside at Harris and the two guards, who were watching the two of them with interest – Harris' slightly less obvious, but still clearly visible. There was no way they would be able to talk like this.

He switched over to German, thankful for at least that much. "The lawyer and the guards are watching us," he said as explanation for why he wasn't kissing Edward like he wanted to. At the same time, not touching Edward at all was beyond his ability, so he reached over to where his hand was chained to the table. Edward's fingers were ice cold against his, and he couldn't shake the awareness of eyes on the back of his neck.

"I'm glad you came," Edward said, also in German, and Alfons felt a rush of warmth for him.

He suddenly wanted to hold Edward close, touch the bruises with his fingertips and reassure himself that beneath them Edward was alive and well. He wanted to brush his hair until it shone again, dress him in something warm and soft, feed him until he complained, curl up in bed with him and not let him leave for a week.

"You're freezing," he said instead, and Edward sort of shrugged. It was obvious, though, in his pallor and the darkness of his lips. Alfons pulled his hand away and stood up, quickly undoing the buttons on his coat.

"What are you doing?" Edward asked, fear flashing across his face at the loss of contact. "Alfons?"

"Here," he said, and wrapped his coat over Edward's shoulders, knotting the sleeves around his neck so it wouldn't slide off. At the corner of his vision, the guards had snapped to attention the moment he got up, but now settled, apparently having decided he wasn't up to anything.

Edward sort of leaned into him, and something in his expression eased. "You know they won't let me keep it," he said dully a moment later, and Alfons had to fight down fury. Hoping his body was enough to mask his actions to a certain extent, he patted Edward on the shoulder once, and had to stop himself from doing it again. It would surely be noticed.

"You can still wear it for now," he said. He thought Edward looked just a bit warmer already.

He wanted to speak, and cast around for something to say. "You should see where we're staying," he said, going for a light tone. "Mustang set up his base in this old hotel. The sheets are all mismatched, the carpets are some of the worst I've ever seen, and the coffee there is terrible. You would love it."

That got a snort out of Edward, and Alfons' heart soared.

"My coffee sucks too," he said bleakly, and it wasn't funny anymore.

Alfons swallowed, the fear he had been holding at bay starting to creep back. What was wrong with him, why couldn't he think of anything to say? Was he imagining it, or did Edward _not_ look so happy to see him?

"Tell me how you're doing?" Edward asked. Alfons latched onto the question eagerly, his mind flashing once again to all the things he must _not_ mention.

"I've been doing research," he said. "I've been sitting in the library -"

"Which one?" Edward asked, showing signs of animation. "C Squared or one of the branches?"

Central Central Library. C Squared. Cute. "C Squared," he said. "I've been reading about history and alchemy and stuff. It's pretty heavy, but I've been doing my best." He trailed off, a little self-conscious, aware that he was babbling. Edward seemed interested, though, so he continued. "I've been reading about trials...."

Edward hunched in on himself, as if for a moment he had forgotten where he was, and now it came back to him. Alfons wished he hadn't reminded him, illogical as it was.

"Winry said you were having a tough time." Edward said, head hanging.

"She doesn't know what she's talking about," Alfons snapped, harsher than he had intended. Hadn't she _listened_ to him?

"Don't... that's not true," Edward protested, straightening up. "Winry's known me forever. And she's smart. Don't talk about her like that."

Alfons looked away and swallowed down resentment. "Sorry." It was only true; Winry _had_ known Edward far longer than he had. She had grown up with him, played with him, was his irreplaceable automail mechanic, and got to call him Ed.

What about _him_?

"She doesn't know me," he said, "I'm managing. You don't need to worry about me."

"But _I_ know you," Edward said softly. "I knew it would be difficult for you, here. Even before we came."

"You may be surprised to hear this, but _so did I_." Alfons had to fight to keep the frustration out of his voice. "But right now, you're much worse off than I could ever be."

Edward shifted a little, then turned his head aside, hiding his face behind his messy bangs. He kept holding his head down, avoiding Alfons' gaze even though he couldn't see him. "It's not like you can help with anything," he said bitterly. "I sit in a cell all day, you want to hear about that?"

"Yes, actually," he said. For a moment it seemed like it would work. Edward was wavering, still not speaking, but getting there, so he decided to try and coax him.

"In Germany, you used to tell me everything," he offered. He must be doing something wrong, now, because in the other world his mere presence had been enough to cheer Edward up, some days.

He'd miscalculated, because Edward closed down, found another defense: "In Germany you didn't believe my stories," he said.

Alfons fought down disappointment. "I can pretend I don't believe you, if that'll help." It was such a strange suggestion, he didn't know what he preferred; that Edward take him at his word, or laugh.

Without a trace of a smile, Edward said, "It's not the same." He clenched his fists, the chains clanking a little, and rubbed his thumb over his fingers.

Heavy silence descended between them, and Alfons stared down at the scratched surface of the table. What was wrong with him? Every time he opened his mouth he said the wrong thing. He fiddled with the sleeve of his sweater, slightly chilly, but not enough to be uncomfortable. A glance at the guards showed they had yet to set aside their weapons, and Alfons didn't like the proximity of their guns.

Maybe everybody else had the right of it. There wasn't anything he could do for Edward.

"I'm really okay," Edward said weakly. "It's not that bad...."

He wondered if Edward said it enough times, he would actually start believing it.

"I hope you're giving them hell," he said, a quiver in his voice. If they were going to beat him anyway, Edward might as well go down fighting. Violence had always been one of Edward's prime coping mechanisms.

"They keep me chained," Edward replied. "What do you want me to do, trip over them? Oh right, _I already do_. Great idea there, Alfons."

"That's not what I meant." All he had wanted was to see Edward, reassure himself that Edward was still Edward, and still his. The possibility that he was wrong on both counts was rising with every passing moment.

He couldn't be angry at Edward. Edward was sitting in a jail cell, blind, chained, being beaten, so all of Alfons' frustration twisted back on himself, tearing through him. He should have listened to Mustang and just stayed in the hotel.

At least then he wouldn't be making the situation _worse_.

"I know."

It should have made him feel better, but it didn't. "I miss you," he said, desperate. He no longer cared about petty things like self-respect, or what the hell Harris thought they were talking about. _Just tell me you miss me, too_.

It had been a month. He had never gone so long without seeing Edward before, not since they had moved in together.

Even before Edward spoke, he knew the response wouldn't be the one he wanted, and his breath came shallower. Edward tugged against his chains, and when he spoke, his expression was torn.

"You should probably try and get used to it."

What was he doing wrong? Alfons was suddenly overwhelmed by this world, which was making less and less sense with each passing day. What had they done to Edward, here, that made him able to toss Alfons aside so easily? He wanted to shout the questions at him, but couldn't, so just sat in frozen silence.

It unnerved Edward. Alfons wondered what he thought Alfons' face looked like. "I didn't mean it like that," Edward stammered. "It's not - it's just - I didn't mean to do this to you, Alfons, you have to believe me."

By now Alfons hardly knew what Edward was talking about, and wasn't sure he had the strength to try and figure it out.

"Alfons? Are you still- you're still there, right?" Edward looked around frantically as if his eyes would miraculously penetrate the darkness. "Say something!"

"Yeah," he said. The word came out as dulled as he felt.

"If I had known-"

"You what?" he flared. "You wouldn't have brought me? Is that it?"

_Tell me it's not true. Tell me we still have that, at least_.

"I didn't say that," Edward said shakily. "Come on, Alfons, that's not what I said."

"It sure sounds like it." Something was eating at Edward. Beyond the trial, beyond the beatings and loneliness – and it scared Alfons silly. He had to know what it was in order to fight it, to tell Edward that things _would_ be okay, but he didn't even know where to start.

He didn't know how to make Edward _need_ to talk to him, what had made Edward confide in him all those times in the past, what was stopping him now.

Did he even know _anything_ about Edward?

"So what is it you're saying?" Alfons tried, when Edward didn't answer for a few moments. "Because if it's this stupid trial – even if I had known, I wouldn't have given a damn."

"I'm saying that I'm sorry," Edward said. His voice shook; he knew, as well as Alfons, that if they got too worked up the meeting would probably end. If only Alfons had been able to touch him, he knew he could have taken down all Edward's prickly barriers, and he cursed the presence of Harris and the guards.

At least, that's what he thought. Had thought. He didn't know anymore.

The walls of the cell felt like they were closing in on him, claustrophobic, warping everything he thought he had known. He wanted _out_, with an intensity that surprised him.

"It's a moot point now, anyway," he said. "I can't go home. We _knew_ it would be like this." Maybe not _exactly_ like this, but.... "We're still together, right? We can work through this." He tried, very hard, to believe his own words.

Edward's reaction was not what he expected. He gasped and his eyes widened, the golden irises standing out vividly in his pale face. Alfons wished he could recall the words, didn't know why they had affected him that way, but it was too late. Edward's throat worked as he tried to speak, and Alfons didn't want to hear him apologize any more for some horrible imagined crime.

"What do you want me to do?" Alfons asked, forestalling him. One last-ditch attempt to mend fences. He vowed to himself that he would do his best, he would do whatever it took to fix what was wrong, and maybe bring a smile back to Edward's face. "Just... tell me what I can do for you." _Please_.

His throat felt strangely tight as he waited for the answer.

"You should... it's just..." Edward steeled himself visibly, then forced the words out. "It's better if you can manage without me, you know?"

The trial hadn't even started, and Edward had already given up.

"Why would I _want_ to?" Alfons leapt to his feet, slammed his hands down on the table. "After two _years_, you think I can just go on with my life, as if you're not a part of it?"

With every word, Edward hunched in on himself more. Like this, he was almost unrecognizable – where had his drive disappeared to, the confidence that the two of them could defeat _anything_? He didn't know what do to, had never seen Edward so far gone before. He cast around desperately for something to snap him out of it, if only a little, get him back on his feet.

"Edward-" the word cut off with a choke of surprise as a heavy hand landed on his shoulder. Alfons stared in shock at the guard, having completely forgotten their presence.

"That's enough," the guard said roughly. "Party's over. Let's get going."

"I'm not finished here," Alfons snapped, his fury overriding whatever fear he might have had. He tried throwing the hand off, but it clamped down harder.

"Yes, you are," the guard growled, and shoved him towards the door. "I'm sick of your babble, you damned outsider. Get going."

Alfons paused, turned around to look at Edward again, fighting the inexorable push on his arm. "Edward!" he practically shouted, although it hurt his lungs. "We're not done, damn it, tell them-"

But Edward just sat there slumped in his chains, pale, eyes downcast. The fight drained out of Alfons.

He didn't want Alfons there, so there wasn't really any point in staying.

Alfons turned to leave, and Edward didn't call him back.


	38. Trial

_Happy Valentine's Day, everybody! I love you all, and here's a chapter. As always, thanks to my betas for the hard work, and this time around - in the face of adversity. Thanks to Marju for the Russian help, and to my mom for encouragement. No thanks to university and its exams. I hope you enjoy this chapter!_

_Random note: I've yakked about my musicals several times in the notes, here. If you want to know what it is that's been eating up free time I could use to write, paste 'הטוב הרע והמחברת' into the search on youtube. You can find some vids of us (and know that it wasn't just an excuse)._

* * *

Harris said nothing to him the entire way back, for which Alfons was thankful. It allowed him to pretend that the past half hour of his life hadn't happened. For a time, Germany superimposed itself on the reality of Central, blurring reality with memory. The soldiers in the streets were the Kaiser's, and he was fourteen again, taking one last walk with his father before he would be lost to the war. He could remember the admonitions his father had left him with – to take care of his mother, to always be true to himself and his country, though he couldn't remember the exact phrases. The cadence of his father's voice was still clear to him, though the words were lost.

Sometimes he felt guilty that he couldn't really remember what had turned out to be his father's last words to him, but he had always felt that a lifetime spent together had more significance than just a few moments.

He curled his hands in his pockets, feeling the cold acutely through his sweater. Right now he welcomed the cold, felt it numb him to reality. Thinking about the cold was better than thinking about what had happened.

Still, he didn't regret leaving Edward his coat. He had given Edward his _life_, what was a coat, compared to that?

Central was Central once again, and Harris' silence was angry. For an instant, Alfons saw in him his father's disappointment in how Alfons had turned out; in love with another man, having abandoned his entire _world_ just for the opportunity to be with him.

Returning to the hotel felt nothing like a homecoming. It was an unfamiliar building, full of people he didn't really know, who were all living a life he wasn't really part of. He climbed the steps with feet as heavy as lead. Several soldiers recognized him and waved, but he couldn't bring himself to acknowledge them.

He would have headed straight for the stairs that led to his room, but Harris' voice stopped him.

"Wait."

Alfons paused and turned around, couldn't meet his eyes.

Harris spoke impersonally. "What was all that about?"

"It's not your business."

"Anything that is related to this trial is my business."

"This is not related to the trial."

"Anything which affects my client _two days_ before his trial is my business," Harris said, coldly. "What did you talk about?"

Alfons didn't have the strength to fight. "He asked me how I am doing. I told him. Then he told me to leave. I left."

He could tell that his answer didn't satisfy Harris in the least, but it was the best he could do right now. Before the lawyer could come up with another question, Alfons fled.

-

Upstairs, he headed straight for his room, the one place he could be reasonably sure he wouldn't be bothered. His own words echoed in his head. _He told me to leave. I left_.

Alfons sat down on the bed, rested his pounding head in his hands. He closed his eyes. In the dark silence, he could feel all the more acutely the strange loss inside him, as if some part of him had been cut away.

What had he done wrong?

The conversation played out in his head, and now he could clearly see all the wrong turns he had taken. He should have listened to Edward in the first place, he should have demanded to know why, he shouldn't have mentioned so many things that just made the situation worse. He should have been more understanding, he should have been kinder -

But every single time it ended with Edward telling him to manage on his own.

This was the part where he would have gone to find Edward and told him that he couldn't be gotten rid of so easily. He would have demanded to know where he was mistaken, would have promised to do anything to fix it. If necessary, he would have begged, he would have-

Edward was out of his reach, though. Alfons had left without a thought, not realizing that he could never return. The words of apology would go unsaid.

"I'm sorry," he told the air, instead. He fell backwards, staring up at the ceiling, but hardly saw it. The bed was solid beneath him, but he felt like he was tumbling, had lost his grip on the world. One presence had grounded him, and somehow his own stupidity had lost him even that. "God, I-"

Time passed.

The looped conversation in his mind dulled to a murmur, then to silence. Emptiness yawned inside him, pushed at his eardrums and eyes until he thought he would go crazy. With a harsh wrench he forced himself upright and stood, swaying. This room was his, wholly his, had never belonged to Edward.

It was unbearable.

He stormed out, his heart beating too fast, his breath coming too short. He needed to get away.

Voices in the corridors were meaningless, belonging to unfamiliar, faceless figures. The colors of the carpets stung his vision, twisting like snakes as they led him out. Golden flashes of doorknobs, lamps, uniform buttons, caught his eyes, and each one reminded him of Edward.

Now his throat felt tight.

He hardly knew where he was going until his feet led him to a door outside – not the front, where he usually exited, but some other door he hadn't even really been aware of. Nobody accompanied him out, this time, and to Alfons it was only another sign of his disgrace.

In the street, he felt even more off-kilter than before. He didn't want to be alone among the swarms of people, but kept walking nonetheless. The noise of the street drowned out the silence in his head, at least for now. Here and there rays of late afternoon sunlight penetrated the clouds, making the day slightly less dreary. There might be snow again, tonight. To his left, up ahead, a sign caught his eye, and he headed towards it. Drinking at this hour was irregular, but he didn't care.

There was something familiar about the pub, but then, there was something familiar about all pubs. It was decently clean, not yet smoky because it was still early for the regulars to arrive. Too unhappy to care about the look the barman was giving him, Alfons slid into a seat by the bar.

Self-consciously, he pulled out the small coin purse Winry had lent him and looked at its meagre contents. "How much is a pint?"

The barman raised a bushy eyebrow. "Thirty five cenz."

Alfons counted his coins, then counted again to make sure, heart sinking. "I only have thirty three," he said, wishing the floor would swallow him up. God, he couldn't even get a drink in this world. He was so pathetic.

"Then we'll just manage with thirty three," the man said. Alfons smiled in thanks, and watched as he filled a tankard to the brim. He hadn't had beer since Germany, now that he thought about it, and he hadn't gone drinking alone since he had hooked up with Edward. He swallowed.

"You look like you need it," the man said as he slid the mug over to him with one large hand. Alfons avoided his gaze by burying his face in the tankard. He sipped at it, knowing he had better make it last.

For a few minutes, he allowed himself to be distracted by the flavor of the beer. Of course it was not nearly as good as the beer in Germany, but it was quite decent, and certainly better than nothing. Or vodka.

"Thank you," he said, half a glass later. Edward used to pretend he was drunk, unable to do the real thing. He wondered if he dared do it as well, and whether or not it would help at all.

The barman's curiosity was practically rolling off him in waves, and he _had_ been nice about the beer, so Alfons decided to share. It wasn't like he would ever see the man again.

"I think I was just broken up with," he mumbled. Hearing the words spoken shocked him into taking another long draught, as if he could wash them away. He didn't even really _know_ if that was what Edward had intended; Edward had never told him to leave with such finality, before. He wasn't delusional enough to just insist that it wasn't true, though.

"Ah, girls are like that," the barman said, shaking his head. "You look like a nice guy, you'll find someone better-"

"I don't _want_ someone better!" Alfons slammed his tankard down on the bar. "There _isn't_ someone better." He lifted it again to his mouth, to avoid the barman's understanding look. The beer was gone, and he wondered when that had happened.

One pint wasn't even enough to get him tipsy, let alone drown his unhappiness.

"Got it bad, huh?"

Alfons didn't move as the tankard was taken away. Maybe he could sit here for a bit longer, maybe the alcohol fumes would enter his bloodstream and allow him a semblance of forgetfulness.

When the mug was set before him, full to the brim, he jerked in surprise.

"I can't-"

"It's on the house. The place is dead right now, anyway. Drink up."

Alfons did, wondering if all people in Amestris were this nice (fat chance, this was the same country where Edward had been drugged and kidnapped out of Winry's home), and where his luck had come from.

"What's she like?"

Alfons shifted on the stool uncomfortably. He would rather have not answered, the risk of saying something irretrievable was too high, but he figured he owed it. He was getting free beer, after all.

"Brilliant," he said, keeping his eyes on his drink, speaking half into the mug. "Beautiful." Each word brought with it a corresponding image of Edward, vivid and painful.

He wanted Edward _back_. The mistakes he had made were so stupid, so elementary. If he only got another chance, he was sure he wouldn't repeat them.

Edward couldn't have meant it when he said Alfons should manage on his own. Edward _loved_ him.

"She any, y'know, good?"

Alfons choked, started coughing, which set off his lungs, and spent the next few minutes trying not to hack one of them out, or cough up a worm. The bartender was contrite, pounding on the back (which really wasn't helping, but Alfons didn't have enough air to tell him so), and apologizing.

He got his breath back, wiped his streaming eyes on his sleeve, and decided that he'd probably had enough beer. God, just the thought of answering a question like _that _about Edward – he didn't think he had mistaken the innuendo – was enough to make his ears burn and tie his tongue in knots.

"I should go," he managed. The fact that people were starting to trickle in, and darkness had fallen outside the windows only strengthened his need to get out of there. "I – thank you," he managed, remembering to be polite.

The bartender answered – something about things working out, confessing his feelings – but Alfons wasn't listening at that point. He hung around a while longer, nodding vaguely when the occasion warranted it, until he could leave without seeming impolite.

It was his first time seeing Central in darkness. Normally he was back before sunset, and spent the long evenings reading, or listening to Harris talking about law and trying to follow, or sitting with some of the soldiers spinning yarns. Now he was cold, the chill wind biting at him through his sweater. He pulled it tighter around himself, crossed his arms against his body to keep in some heat, and hunched his shoulders to hide his neck. For a moment he was disoriented. The streets were lit up and strange, and he couldn't tell which way was Mustang's base. He had been afraid of drawing attention, but there were a surprising number of people milling around. Harris had said something about people rallying to Central to demonstrate, and he wondered where they all slept.

A few minutes of wandering later, and suddenly the hotel was up ahead. He wondered how he hadn't recognized the area earlier. He couldn't be drunk; three beers was hardly enough to get him buzzed.

He really didn't want to go back, but there wasn't anywhere else for him to go. Barely half a block away from the hotel he suddenly found himself surrounded by soldiers, and nearly panicked before he recognized their colors as Mustang's.

"We've found him!" somebody shouted. "Ryan, run tell them to call off the search."

Mustang's soldiers were disciplined; there was minimum of fuss, people were dispatched, and Alfons found himself escorted back by three others.

"Are you okay?" one asked him, looking him up and down. "You're not hurt?"

Alfons shook his head. Had they truly been that worried about him? He had a horrible vision of people spending hours searching for him, and felt ill.

Being escorted in by soldiers made the hotel seem even less hospitable. Almost immediately upon entry he was pounced on by Mustang, who gave him the same once-over the soldiers had. Upon realizing that Alfons was fine, he frowned.

"Where were you?" Mustang demanded.

Alfons looked away, scuffed his foot along the floor. "Nowhere."

This only served to fuel Mustang's rage. He took a step forward. Alfons was mildly amused to notice that he was actually a bit taller than Mustang, which sort of ruined the intimidation tactic.

"Look at me when I'm talking to you. What were you doing?"

"Nothing," Alfons snapped. He didn't owe Mustang any answers. Right now, he didn't care that he was behaving childishly, he was just sick of getting pushed around, of having to report to a whole host of people who knew nothing about him.

"_Answer me._" Mustang was practically shaking with anger. Alfons was sort of surprised to notice that he didn't really care.

"I tried to get drunk." Maybe he had sort of succeeded.

Mustang's expression of disbelief managed to penetrate his strange mood, just a little. A twinge of shame at his own behavior only intensified at Mustang's next words, which were nearly shouted.

"You could have jeopardized _everything we are working for_! What possessed you to take such a risk?"

"I didn't tell anybody who I am," Alfons said, only a little bit defensively. He wasn't _completely_ stupid.

"What is wrong with you? I hadn't pegged you as this irresponsible. Do you realize how many people, _all of whom have much better things with their time_, have just spent over an hour looking for you, only to find that you ran off to get _drunk_? And this is after you spent the morning picking a fight with Fullmetal-"

Alfons didn't wait to hear the end of the sentence, and stormed off.

"_Get back here_," Mustang bellowed, chasing him. Alfons walked faster.

"I said-" Mustang grabbed his shoulder and jerked him backwards. Alfons stumbled, and his lungs, which had already been protesting the speed of his walk, decided they had had enough. He doubled over coughing, reminding him painfully of the as-yet-unhealed bullet wound in his chest.

Mustang backed off, gave him some room. The moment Alfons had recovered his breath, he fled.

This time, nobody came after him.

He trudged upstairs, occasionally pausing to lean on the wall and gasp. He was a little dizzy, and didn't know how much of it was from lack of oxygen, and how much was the effect of the alcohol. At some point along the way he overbalanced and ran into Winry – literally.

Eyes flashing, she opened her mouth to berate him, but stopped.

"Are you _drunk_?" she asked incredulously.

Her words drove home how utterly pathetic he was right now. He didn't answer, dropped his eyes to the floor, and headed for his room.

-

Nobody bothered to check up on Alfons the following morning. Not that they ever did. It was ironic that the one day when Alfons might have actually appreciated being paid attention to, even if it was only to chew him out, was the day before Edward's trial. At breakfast he was ignored, and the few words exchanged between the unfamiliar soldiers sharing the room with him were clipped and harsh. Winry rushed past at some point in the morning, not even seeing him. Occasionally he heard Mustang around the base, bellowing orders louder than usual. At one point he caught Al in a corner with a sheaf of papers, memorizing something.

It all served to drive home rather forcefully the fact that there wasn't any way for Alfons to help prepare for the upcoming trial.

By now, it was obvious that pretty much everybody had heard about his fight with Edward, and nobody was pleased. The most obvious expression of it was from Al, unsurprisingly. At some point Al dashed past him and around a corner – then came back and looked up at Alfons with a sneer.

"If you weren't sucha _weakling_, I would punch your lights out," he said coldly, and ran off once again.

Alfons was left in the corridor, gazing after him. Much as he wanted to be liked, to find a niche in this world, everybody's disapproval paled in the face of Edward's rejection.

Harris – during the few seconds Alfons glimpsed him at some point during the day – seemed much tenser than usual, but he didn't know how much of it might be because of what he had supposedly done to Edward. He hoped Edward was okay, then wondered if it wasn't terribly self-centered to think that _he_ could have caused him not to be.

The thought that maybe Edward _didn't_ care hurt more than he would have believed possible.

He mostly tried to avoid everybody else, but morbid curiosity prevented him from just holing up in his room the entire day. He had to watch the preparations, had to know that even if there was nothing he could do for Edward, everybody else was doing their best.

If their success was dependent on people running around with grim looks on their faces, they would win with no problem at all.

At one point, Mustang grabbed him for briefing on the trial. It basically included orders not to talk to the press, not to get in trouble, try not to talk _period_, not to pull another vanishing act – all of which had an underlying current of annoyance at Alfons' very existence. Especially in this place and time. He escaped as soon as he could.

The end of the day came as a relief. Finally, a legitimate excuse to get back into bed and forget the world for a few hours, though he doubted he would actually get any sleep.

Tomorrow was the first day of the trial. He rolled over, punched the pillow, and tried to get comfortable. Rationally, he knew that probably nothing would happen. Gossip prepared him for the fact that the first few days, maybe weeks, would be spent on technicalities. It would take a while before they would have anything immediate to worry about.

Edward was probably terrified. Eyes open, Alfons stared into darkness and thought of what Edward must be going through. Remembered his own insensitivity with a pang, and Edward forcing out the words that had cut Alfons adrift.

Just like that, something snapped in his mind, and when Edward's words replayed themselves he realized he was being an absolute _dolt_.

Why, exactly, had he gone in expecting Edward to be at all rational? He was treating Edward's words as if they had been said with complete conviction, the result of a calm conversation over tea and cake. He should know better than _anybody_ that if there was one thing Edward was really bad at, it was coping.

Any residual anger and pain drained out of him.

He still didn't know what was wrong with Edward. He didn't know what had happened to him to make him conclude that he had to send Alfons away, but he knew that it hadn't been because Edward's feelings had changed.

And that made all the difference in the world.

He sat up in bed, his mind whirling with possibilities.

Fear of death came to mind first – he knew that was one of Edward's greatest, almost-unspoken terrors. If the trial went wrong – well, of course they would break Edward out, because he wasn't going to let Edward die, but that wouldn't stop Edward's nightmares. Speaking of nightmares, he shuddered to think of what Edward's nights were like. Never an easy sleeper, if even _Alfons_ was having difficulties sleeping, what was Edward going through?

Somewhere, among all the things that were wrong, was what had tipped the scales to the point where Edward was no longer seeking help. _That_ was what scared him, if he was honest with himself. That Edward would reach some mental point of no return, beyond which even Alfons wouldn't be able to put him back together.

They weren't there yet, though, Alfons told himself. He would get back in to see Edward, show him they hadn't reached rock bottom yet.

He just had no idea how to do it.

-

The courtroom was impressive – at least, to Alfons, who had never been in one before. It was spacious, probably the biggest in Amestris, with wood paneling up the walls, and wrought iron light fixtures. Everything looked new, and there was still a faint smell of fresh wood.

Then they were properly inside, pushing their way among the throngs of people here for the trial. At the back of the room they passed a bunch of people setting up radio equipment, ready to broadcast the trial to the whole country. Further in were soldiers and politicians, some of whom greeted Mustang, some of whom shot him dirty looks. Nobody paid the slightest attention to Alfons, not even Al and Winry.

They were probably still angry at him.

Trailing slightly behind everyone else meant that he was left with the last seat in their row, right up against the aisle, which opened to his left. The first row had been saved for them, right behind where Harris and Edward would soon be sitting. Alfons stared at the empty seats and swallowed. He tugged at his collar, and wished he wasn't so jittery. Despite his dreams of building rockets, he had never actually come close to making history – yet here he was now, in another world, completely by accident. There was nothing exciting or glamorous about it.

Harris entered, then, and went to his seat quickly. He set down several folders and stacks of papers in front of him, and started scanning them. Alfons watched him, the need to go talk to him _now_ almost overpowering. He had to find some way to get back in to see Edward.

What kept him in his seat, aside from the fact that now was _really_ not the time, was the fact that he had no clue what explanation he would give this time, to convince Harris it was necessary. He slumped back in his seat, and traced the woodgrain in the low barrier in front of him.

A sudden hush descended, and his thoughts came to an abrupt halt as the judges entered. As Harris had said, there were three of them: An old, slightly bent man with white hair and mustache neatly trimmed, a large woman whose long black hair was pulled back severely into a long braid which nearly reached her knees, and the third, a man who looked to be in his fifties with the stiff demeanor of soldier.

He leaned over to Winry, who was sitting on his right, slightly embarrassed at not having picked it up on his own. "Who's who?"

"Shhh," she said, but answered anyway. "The woman is Justice Laura Morana Castillo from Aerugo. The older one is Justice Nikolas Tsamis of Creta, and the last one is Justice Karelin Mikhail Aleksandrovich from Drachma."

There was no way Alfons would remember their names, and he wondered vaguely how Winry had managed. He scrutinized their faces, hoping for some sort of insight into the personalities of the people who would be sealing Edward's fate. Everybody said Drachma wouldn't be helpful, so their only hope was from Creta and Aerugo. He felt cold.

Frankly, he had no clue. Both judges looked grim and serious, but how else would he have expected them to look at the start of a trial?

Before him, Harris rearranged his stacks of papers for the third time, the only outward sign he might be nervous.

Alfons bounced his left knee in a rapid tempo. Where was Edward, where was Edward-

A murmur started at the back of the crowd, and Alfons immediately turned to look. Edward was being led into the room, surrounded by four large guards. His movements were slow, hampered by chains around his arms, legs, and neck. He was still wearing his ugly prison uniform, with Alfons' coat on top, partially buttoned. Alfons' stomach twisted, and he could hardly bear to look at him.

He looked even worse than Alfons had imagined, and it was probably at least partially his fault. The accusing eyes of Al and Winry bore into the back of his head, and he looked down at his feet, ill once again.

Edward was seated, so _close_ yet right out of Alfons' reach. He thought of calling out to him, but didn't dare risk being thrown out of the courtroom.

The court clerk stood up to announce the start of the trial, but before he could speak, Justice Castillo was on her feet.

"This is preposterous," she announced in a carrying voice, her Amestrian tinged with a slightly melodic accent. "This is a court of justice, not a hospital. Why does the accused look like the aftermath of a brawl?"

The tense silence turned awkward. Around Edward, the guards exchanged looks, and finally one of them stepped forward when it became clear the judge wasn't going to withdraw her challenge.

"The prisoner resisted," he said, too loudly. Alfons clenched his fists and resisted the urge to punch him. To his right, he could see Al doing the same.

"The prisoner doesn't look _capable _of resisting," the judge said dryly. "Are Amestrian guards so incompetent they cannot discipline a chained man without resorting to this sort of violence?" When the guard didn't answer, she continued. "If Mr. Elric is uncooperative, there are other methods of discipline, such as isolation."

"Your Honor." Harris stood up. "My client is already being held in isolation. It was deemed too dangerous to keep him with the rest of the inmates." Alfons noticed how elegantly Harris refrained from mentioning who it was dangerous for.

Castillo narrowed her eyes, but rallied quickly. "And cutting the defendant's rations?"

"Mr. Elric has both an arm and leg of automail. As it is he is not fed enough to stay healthy." The crowd murmured in anger at this. A quick glance to the side showed that while both Al and Winry looked furious, they didn't seem surprised. Apparently this was just another thing they had neglected to tell Alfons.

Harris continued. "Removing his automail would be a risk, and since he is blind, would probably lower significantly his ability to function at all."

Alfons couldn't move his eyes from Edward's still form. He thought he might have detected a flinch at Harris' words, but wasn't sure. If there was anything Edward hated, it was advertising his disability; even to Alfons, he had never been completely comfortable admitting to things he couldn't do. Alfons wished Edward didn't have to be present for the humiliation.

Now the other two judges were murmuring, looking rather shocked. Castillo leaned down to confer with them for a moment, before straightening up again.

"At this rate, Mr. Elric will be unfit to stand trial." She paused, then shook her head in disgust. "Court is adjourned for today. We will reconvene tomorrow. I expect to see Mr. Elric cleaned up and alert. Councilors, see me in conference."

Shocked murmurs broke out. It took Alfons a few minutes to realize that it was actually over for the day, and nothing would be happening. Edward was already being hurried out of court, his gait painful to watch. When he looked to see how everybody else was reacting, he was taken aback at the fierce smile on Mustang's face.

"This is the break we've been waiting for," he said, his voice pitched not to carry. "Now we can get a court order to ease up on him – more food, blankets, visiting hours."

Harris didn't look so pleased. "We're going to need it," he said. Al made a questioning sound, but Harris gave him a warning look. "Not here."

Alfons followed them out of the courtroom, preoccupied by the fact that nobody else seemed to notice how little interest Edward had taken in the proceedings.

Outside, they milled around for a while, until Harris came back out. Alfons watched the people camped in front of the courthouse, behind the picketing the police had set up. There were so many of them, interspersed here and there with large slogan-bearing signs. Now he could also see where loudspeakers had been set up, probably to broadcast the trial.

He felt lost among the crowd, and quickly looked around to make sure Al and Winry were still in sight. He stood close to them, and was a bit startled when Winry turned to him.

"He's a wreck," she said accusingly. "If you hadn't been so-"

"How do you know it's all my fault?" Alfons cut her off. "How can you be sure that his situation would be so different if I hadn't talked to him? You don't know what happened."

She clenched her fists. "Because you're not telling!"

Both of them were speaking loudly, trying to overcome the noise of the crowd. People around them could probably hear what they were saying, but Alfons couldn't bring himself to be quiet.

"No, I'm not," he said. "It wouldn't help." Even to himself, they sounded like excuses.

Winry turned away from him, muttering under her breath. Having failed at getting the information she wanted, she had no more use for him.

-

All the way back, while everybody else mostly discussed the trial's start (or lack thereof) and ignored Alfons, he was left alone to mull over Edward's situation. Somebody had to.

If he was going to get Edward to open up about what was _really_ wrong with him, he would first have to deal with everything else. Edward definitely wasn't sleeping enough. Nobody else knew that Edward had died, and how the fact that he was now threatened with _execution_ must have him nigh terrified. Combine his lack of sleep with terror, loneliness, and boredom, and it was a sure recipe for disaster.

Moreover, Alfons was starting to understand that the way Edward used to talk to him was not normal for him at all. Getting him to open up again would take careful coaxing.

The problem was, Alfons couldn't really come up with a way to get Edward to sleep – even if only for an hour or so. Drugs would not improve his emotional situation, and he would probably refuse to take them anyway.

He relegated the problem to the back of his mind, hoping inspiration would strike.

-

Harris gathered everybody in one of the conference rooms. Al tried to close the door in Alfons' face, and pretended innocence when Alfons glared at him. Nobody else seemed to notice.

"The good news is," Harris began, "we've now got up to three visiting hours a day. And we can bring him food and other things, subject to thorough inspection by the guards."

Alfons brightened, but then remembered that the bad news was forthcoming, and waited for the other shoe to drop.

"The truth is," Harris said, "we could probably arrange more visits if he had a girlfriend, or if Winry would be willing to present herself as such."

Alfons nearly choked, and was unspeakably relieved when Winry shook her head slightly.

"I told you already, it wouldn't be fair to him," she said softly.

Oh God, if Winry had announced herself as Edward's girlfriend, it would be a complete disaster. His heart thudded, and a totally irrational anger pulsed through his veins at the thought, but before he could work himself up, Harris' next words cut into his thoughts.

"However, Edward is posing a serious problem. He's refusing to talk to me."

Just like that, Alfons forgot his jealousy.

"What do you mean?" Winry asked, after a beat.

Harris shook his head. "At first I thought this might be some ploy by the guards, but it's legit. He told me himself that he doesn't want to talk to me, and asked me to leave him alone. If the prosecution hears of this, we could be in serious trouble." He paused to glance at them, then elaborated.

"In the event that the defendant refuses to cooperate with their attorney, the court is authorized to nominate somebody else. The ANP would certainly be interested in replacing me with a less able defense."

Alfons shifted in his chair, abruptly aware that Mustang had fixed him with an intent look. He refused to acknowledge it, so Mustang gave up and turned to Harris.

"How long has this been going on?"

"Since last night."

_See, it's not just me_, Alfons thought. All of these were symptoms, they had to get at the root of the issue. _Visits for a girlfriend_ echoed in his thoughts, to be followed up later.

Harris sighed, and clasped his hands. "I want to bring Al in to talk to him. We can't afford this sort of risk."

Al nodded once, abruptly.

"I could-" Alfons began, almost without thinking.

"I think you've done enough," Harris said. His father's voice, cold and disapproving, was enough to silence Alfons. He didn't say anything more.

-

Al should have been pleased to be meeting with Ed again so soon. He sat impatiently, waiting for the heavy metal door to open and admit his brother, and frowned. The fact was, he wasn't here just because. Harris had sent him here for a purpose, to get Ed to cooperate again, and somehow that cheapened everything.

He trusted Harris – had to, because there wasn't really anybody else to trust, and because Ed trusted him. But he didn't like any of this. He was supposed to be one of the more powerful alchemists in Amestris, and yet there wasn't really anything he could do.

Ed shuffled in, and Al scrutinized him, as if he could figure out what was going on inside his mind just from seeing him up close. He was still a mess, and still wearing Alfons' coat – Al wished he had thought of giving him one. But beyond the physical, he couldn't shake the feeling that something was different about his brother.

Ed stumbled while trying to sit down, and it clicked. The frustration was gone. Right now, Ed wasn't chafing at his bonds or his blindness, just silently accepting them as a fact of life. The thought of his brother _getting used_ to this horrified him. Did Ed realize what was happening to him? Could Al bear to bring it up?

Expecting Ed to do something about it was pointless. Even if this wasn't a conscious decision, maybe Ed was just tired of fighting.

Al resolved to do whatever it took to snap him out of it, regardless of the consequences. Docility did not flatter his brother.

"Brother," he said, and something inside him loosened when that brought a half-smile to Ed's face.

"Hey, Al," Ed said. "I must be a rare sight, huh. I managed to scare the judges off trying me. Think if I keep it up they'll let me go?"

"That's not funny," Al said reflexively (this was part of the problem, Ed saw his weakness as a _joke_, how would he ever fight like this?). His disapproval made the smile drop off Ed's face and his shoulders hunch, and Al wished he hadn't said anything, yet at the same time... this was a fight for Ed's life. They couldn't forget that.

Try for a save. "Brother, we don't need you beat up in order to win this thing. Harris says they don't have a chance in hell."

"Yeah, yeah," Ed muttered.

_Harris says you're not talking to him_. Al looked at the two guards, who were listening to their conversation, and bit his lip. How was he supposed to figure anything out without being able to talk about it?

Even worse, he found himself casting about for something to say. For years he had missed his brother, hoped for his return, and now that he was _right in front of him_, Al was silent. It felt rather like a betrayal.

Still, he did his best. He told some stories, the ones that weren't depressing or all about the trial or the riots, all the while trying to come up with a way to ask Ed about Harris without giving anything away. His heart wasn't in the conversation, and he could tell that Ed wasn't particularly interested, either.

How was he supposed to help Ed, like this? He had looked up to his indomitable brother for so long, what was he supposed to do when Ed _wasn't_?

"Al," Ed said at some point, during a lull. "Have you – has Alfons said anything about me?" His voice was strained, his expression unhappy.

Al clenched his fists. He had _trusted_ Alfons to watch out for Ed, alone of almost everybody he knew, and Alfons had betrayed him. The thought that nobody but him would stay at Ed's side no matter what frightened him, and he masked it with anger.

"He's an _idiot_," Al snapped. "I heard about how he fought with you-"

"It's not his fault!" Ed said, and that surprised Al so much he fell into silence. "Al, I was the one who told him to leave...."

Ed's voice wavered and died. He closed his eyes, an expression of deep hurt on his face, and Al didn't know what to do.

"What?"

He couldn't stand seeing evidence of how deeply his brother cared for his doppelganger. At that moment, looking at Ed, he felt a flash of feeling – not his own, left over from when he had been inside Ed's mind. He knew, without a doubt, how badly it had hurt Ed to send Alfons away, a pain that wrenched through him even now. Knew it, and hated it.

"I had to," Ed said in a small voice. "Is he okay?"

"Uh," Al said. For Ed's sake, he thought back on the past few days, trying to think of how Alfons had seemed. Since he had spent the time mostly insulting him at every opportunity, it was kind of hard to come up with something. "He's been sort of quiet, I guess. I've been really busy, I haven't seen him much," he excused himself.

Why did Ed _always_ have to talk about Alfons?

"Why did you do it?" Not that he was _complaining_, mind, but he couldn't help but feel that everything was somehow related. First Ed cut his connection with Alfons, then with Harris.... He felt a chill.

"What can I do for him, like this?" Ed pulled at his chains, self-loathing in his voice. "He needs somebody who will _be_ there, not sitting in prison."

Al wasn't quite sure what he was hearing, but he didn't like it. Why did Ed need to do anything for Alfons? What did it matter what Alfons needed?

Still, this was for Ed's sake. "Brother, you're going to get out of here."

Ed didn't answer.

"You _are_," Al said, his heart pounding in his temples. Ed swallowed, and turned his head away.

Somehow, Ed thought he wasn't going to make it. What did Ed know that he didn't? What would he do if Ed left him _again_, this time for good?

"Brother," he said, and didn't even care that his voice was choked. He swiped at his eyes.

"Yeah, Al, I know," Ed said, obviously doing his best to sound like he meant it.

Al fought to swallow the panic, mind racing. He had to talk to Ed without the guards, had to figure this out. For a moment he was jealous of that stupid secret language Ed shared with Alfons – and then his mind lit on a solution.

He slumped in his chair, surreptitiously pressing his hands together under the table, waited for the right moment.

"I promise," he said, finding it difficult to force the words out when half his mind was focused on the array almost to the exclusion of all else.

_There_.

Without warning he pounced, pulling his brother into what he hoped looked like a desperate hug.

"Al? Wha-"

He lost the rest of the sentence, too focused on minimizing the reaction as much as he could, as he pushed the tiniest piece of his soul into the nearest thing – Ed's coat, bunched under his hands.

Too soon, the guards were pulling him off, but he had succeeded.

"That's enough of that, out with you."

Vaguely, he could tell that they expected him to argue, and were braced for a fight, but he just nodded. As it was, just getting his feet under him took a huge effort.

"Al?" Ed said, and the word reverberated through his head. He said something else, but Al couldn't listen while trying to walk and maybe say something at the same time. It was all he could do to stay upright; he had never tried to do soul alchemy while still keeping control of his physical body.

The guards frog-marched him out, taking his unsteadiness for reluctance. He tried again to speak, to reassure his brother, but wasn't sure if he had managed.

Somehow, he made it outside. The moment the guards released him he staggered – _Ed was walking, being led back through corridors to his cell –_ found a wall and sagged against it. _A door clanged heavily behind him, Ed's cell was behind two layers of metal doors_ – slid to the ground, managing to keep his feet from buckling and sending him face-first into the cobblestones.

_The corridors were gray and endless, Ed's breathing echoed in his head. He was so close, he could hear a rasping deep in his chest with every breath. _Snow was soaking through his pants, cold against his skin. He tried shifting, but the snow was all around him, and he wasn't really capable of moving right now.

Ignoring the mild discomfort, he submerged himself in the impressions from within the prison.

_-_

This was Ed's cell. A tiny room, even with his skewed perceptions, uniformly dull. There was a toilet in one corner, a sink in another, and a low, uncomfortable-looking bed against the wall. Ed was released from his shackles by the guards – one pressed the barrel of his gun to Ed's temple, while the other undid the chains on his wrists and ankles. Ed was still throughout the process, and Al heard his breath come shallower with what he could only interpret as fear.

Nobody had ever told him that with a gun to his head, Ed's heart stuttered and his breath faded. How could Ed be afraid of something as mundane as a gun?

The guards left the cell, slamming their way out loudly, and Al felt a flinch that would have been invisible. Only when the sounds faded did Ed move, walking slowly over to the bed. He didn't stumble on the smooth floor, and Al could tell by the loosening in Ed's shoulders that the familiarity of his cell was a comfort to him.

It made Al sick.

Ed climbed onto the bed, snagged the pillow, and set it behind him as he leaned against the wall. He pulled his knees up to his chest, and Al heard his heartbeat quicken again.

He was just getting ready to say something when Ed spoke to the air.

"I hate this," he mumbled.

Al was sure for a split second that Ed was speaking to him – _how did he know Al was even there- _but rationality won out. When Ed started humming to himself, he knew that Ed hadn't spoken to him after all, and felt a surge of disappointment. Ed was speaking to the air.

Ed broke off the tune with a curse, and leaned his head back against the wall. "Ya nye magu pradalzhat tak anymore," he snarled, and clenched his fists. The language was alien, probably that one he and Alfons shared.

Al gathered his courage, and spoke.

"Brother," he said. "Can you hear me?"

He wasn't sure what he expected Ed's reaction to be. In a flash, his heart was speeding, and his breath caught in a panicked staccato, but he didn't say anything.

Uncertain, Al waited a moment for Ed to calm down a bit.

Ed laughed shakily. "It's nothing," he said, and pulled his coat tighter around himself. "Nichievo."

"Brother, it's me, Al."

Just like that, Ed's panic reverberated in his ears once more.

"This isn't real," Ed said, his voice hoarse. "Get a grip, Edward, it's not real."

"It is!" Al protested quickly, trying to blurt out an explanation. "Brother, I can do this kind of alchemy-"

"Please," Ed said, curling in on himself. Al couldn't see his face properly, and wished he could. "Pazhalusta, nyet. It's not real. You don't hear anything."

Al couldn't think. He was afraid to speak, afraid of adding to his brother's terror, but at the same time couldn't help but know that if he could only convince his brother that it was true, it would solve the problem.

"It's really me!" he cried. "Brother, please don't ignore me!"

"I'm not listening to you!" Ed screamed, covering his ears. "You're not my brother, eta tolka maya galava katori playing tricks on me again!"

"I'm not," Al said uncertainly. Why was Ed reacting like this?

'Again'. Icy fear trickled through him. "I'll tell you anything you want, anything that will prove it's me," he pleaded. Just to get his brother calmed down, and speaking a language he understood.

"Nye razgavarivai samnoi bolshe!" Ed pleaded, his hands still firmly clapped over his ears.

"I can't understand you-"

"Atvali." There was no way Al could mistake that rhythm of breathing, or the catch in Ed's voice.

"It can't be like this, just go, pazhalusta..."

He wanted to see Ed properly, wanted to switch places with him – because he didn't know how to put Ed back together, was helpless in the face of his torment.

He just wanted Ed to be okay.

One last try. "Brother, I'm sorry-"

"Ubiris tbi kchortevoi matiri!"

Al didn't understand the words, but he could figure out the sentiment. He reached out for his body – and with a shudder, the impressions faded away, leaving him soaked and cold, sitting outside the prison.

He struggled to his feet and stood staring up at it, his eyes wet. Somewhere inside, Ed was breaking down, and there was nobody to help him.

His alchemy must be cursed, Al thought. Every time he tried to use it to help Ed, all he ended up doing was hurting him.

He wished he were Alfons, who mostly made Ed smile, and shared a secret language with him, and didn't possess alchemy to make Ed's life miserable.

He wished he was anybody but himself.

-

Harris managed to produce a doctor who said that Edward was sick, and it would be better for him not to appear in court. The judges accepted this, and it looked like another point in their favor – they were beginning to be disgusted with Edward's treatment. There was a good chance they would be sympathetic to requests to make things easier on Edward.

Alfons sneaked a glance at Al out of the corner of his eye. It was pretty clear that his meeting with Edward yesterday had gone very badly, from how he had slunk in late and communicated in monosyllables for the rest of the evening. As a result, Alfons seemed to have been forgiven, just a little; they were starting to understand that Edward had a serious problem, one unrelated to either Al or Alfons.

He had to get in to see Edward.

Harris was meanwhile trying to gain time. He requested to have Edward released on bail, which was shot down immediately ("All of Amestris couldn't pay the bail we would need to set"). But then, Harris had said earlier, he hadn't expected them to agree.

His next request was debated over for longer. He wanted Edward transferred to a lower-security prison, preferably one under Parliament's control. Edward was hardly a flight risk, he pointed out. Then began a debate about the risk of somebody deciding to break him out of prison, and Harris presented several people – provided by Mustang, of course – who explained that it was in everybody's best interest (except Edward's, Alfons thought) that Edward stand trial and not mysteriously vanish. The rift was between those who wanted him acquitted and those who wanted him dead.

At that, a short argument broke out between two men, who started shouting at each other across the courtroom, and were both ejected.

The court finally agreed to allow the guard force to be supplemented by men from Major General Neill Hardacre's troops, and for Edward to receive written communication. Which would be read aloud to him, they amended, when Harris pointed out that Edward couldn't read.

From the satisfied expression on Harris' face, it seemed that he had achieved what he had hoped for.

Alfons shifted in his seat stiffly, and tried to surreptitiously crane his head around to check the time on the large clock at the back of hall. Six hours had passed; no wonder he was getting uncomfortable. The truth was, he couldn't help feeling just a bit guilty over the fact that he found the proceedings slightly boring. The meaningful stuff was couched in such complicated language that half the time he had no idea what they were talking about.

Tonight he would return to the library and search through the books again. At least now he had a direction.

-

"Major General Hardacre," Roy said, stepping into the office. "Thank you for agreeing to this meeting."

"Sit down, sit down," the general said, waving one thick hand towards the mismatched sofas in front of his desk. It wasn't the first time they had met. Roy could remember having made his acquaintance several years ago, when his road to the top had seemed certain. The general hadn't changed much; though there was more gray in his grizzled ponytail, his eyebrows were still think and dark, and his green eyes hadn't lost their piercing gaze. His uniform was immaculate, in direct contrast to the slightly shabby state of these borrowed offices.

"I suppose you'll be asking me to uphold my end of the deal," Hardacre said, lacing his fingers together. Roy nodded shortly, seeing no reason to dissemble, but kept his demeanor suitably humble. Hardacre was more likely to cooperate if he felt he had the upper hand.

It had taken some fast talking and many clandestine meetings to arrange for Hardacre to be the one whose soldiers would supplement Ed's guards, but Hardacre was believable precisely because he had no especial loyalty to anybody in Mustang's circles.

"Yes, sir," Roy said, and placed two files on the general's desk. "I would appreciate if you accepted these soldiers into your troops some time four years ago, and gave them several commendations for loyalty and bravery in the field. Naturally, they would be among your choices to send to guard Fullmetal."

He wished he could send more than two. For that matter, he wished he could take over the entire prison, and keep Ed somewhere _decent_. But even sneaking two soldiers of his in was risky enough.

He hardly noticed that his heart had sped up just a bit, as he watched Hardacre peruse the files. He might yet refuse – that was the risk of making deals like this. There was no way to really enforce them without putting himself at risk.

"Kain Fury and Maria Ross," Hardacre mused. He snapped the files shut and set them aside. "Very well. I have had no complaint about them for the past four years. They will certainly do for this detail."

Roy masked his relief. "Thank you, sir." He stood to leave.

"Colonel."

He paused. "Yes sir?"

"You're playing a deep game here, aren't you." Hardacre stood and looked down at him, his eyes narrowed.

Roy wanted to laugh. "Fullmetal was my subordinate," _a bloody stupid kid_, "and I feel a responsibility to clear his name from these ridiculous accusations," _and I want to see him free, living the life he deserves_.

"And your political gain from this is purely incidental."

"It is as yet unclear whether I have gained any lasting influence," Roy answered. It was mostly the truth, and denying he gained anything would ring false. "Whatever I achieve for myself, I intend to see Fullmetal set free. Good day, sir."

More than that, though, he _owed_ it to Edward. Edward, who seemed to have stolen Roy's ambition when he had vanished four years ago, and with his return had opened up new opportunities for Roy to regain what he had lost. Sometimes Roy wondered how he had ever managed to forget his ambition to turn Amesris into a country that could be proud of itself.

He shut the door behind him, and shook his head. By now, you would have thought he had had enough of bailing Edward out of trouble, but if he didn't do it, then who would?

Maybe later today he would go visit him, and try to once again reach the man behind the shattered facade.

As he moved towards the exit, he schooled his expression into its regular, controlled state, his mind already rushing ahead.

It was only a matter of time until the prosecution tried to get Harris replaced on grounds that he wasn't qualified to deal with military matters. Roy ran his acquaintances through his mind, pulling out the ones who had sufficient political influence to be heard, the ones who had enough military seniority to be considered reliable witnesses. The ones who he could convince to get up on the stand and say exactly what he wanted them to.

He pulled his scarf tighter about his neck, resisted the urge to scratch at his eyepatch, and strode out onto the street. He still had a long day ahead of him, and when he got back, Hawkeye would be waiting with the latest crucial updates, and there would probably be another coded intelligence report from Breda to review.

Trust Ed to be just as much of a nuisance to him locked up as he was when he was free to roam the country, wreaking havoc.

Roy smiled bitterly under his scarf. Some days he thought he might give anything to return to that time.

-

Harris had, unsurprisingly, been right.

It... was a possibility, Alfons thought. It was hardly an _option_, but he had spent hours staring at books, and so far this looked like the only solution that actually stood a chance of getting him in to see Edward.

He closed the book and stared at its dark brown cover, feeling slightly ill. He just wasn't sure he could go through with it.

Maybe he hadn't read correctly.

He opened the book again, and found the page he had been on almost immediately. The words stayed the same.

Conjugal visits.

His face felt hot just thinking about it. It appeared that prisoners in Amestris had a right to slightly more lengthy visits from their partners. Visits in a private room. With a bed. What they did in that room was quite obvious.

Alfons swallowed.

All he had to do was tell Harris that he and Edward were... together.

The bed would be so perfect, he thought wistfully. He could try and get Edward to sleep a bit, make sure to wake him up if he had any nightmares. They would be able to hug, even cuddle if he could convince Edward.

All he had to do was tell Harris.

Who looked _just like his father_.

Alfons buried his face in his arms with a whimper. Even telling _Mustang_ wouldn't be as horrible as telling Harris! Just imagining the look on his face was enough to make Alfons want to bury himself somewhere _far_ away.

He told himself that Edward said it wasn't such a big issue in this world. He told himself that Harris probably didn't give a damn if Alfons was screwing the Fullmetal Alchemist, as long as it didn't damage the trial in any way.

God, just _thinking_ about it made him want to die. He sat back up, and looked at the books mournfully. Already, he was pretty sure he was going to end up doing it. Helping Edward was more important than his own possible embarrassment. Or rather, humiliation. A definite potential for being ostracized from now until forever.

It wasn't like anybody really liked him anyway, he thought morbidly. What if it got _worse_? On the other hand, he couldn't _not_ do it, not if the potential gain was so big. If this made Edward open up again and cooperate, maybe it would counteract the damages, somewhat. When he had come this far for Edward, how could he stop _now_?

Long ago he had come to realize that when it came to Edward, he was simply incapable of drawing the line.

He _would_ do it.

Alfons stood up, and pretended his knees weren't shaking.

In fact, he would talk to Harris tonight, before he lost his nerve.

Oh God, he wanted to die.

-

The thoughts swirled through his head all the way back so that he hardly noticed the time pass. He came up with a thousand different ways to break the news, and each one seemed stupider than the last.

Saying that he loved Edward, yes, in _that_ way, shouldn't be so difficult, but his throat closed up every time he so much as thought the words.

He barely noticed the excitement upon entering Mustang's base. Only when he was halfway to the stairs did he realize that there was an unusual amount of people running around, and... since when had the post office moved in?

"What's going on?" he asked a pretty soldier as she dashed past.

She flashed him a quick smile. "Ever since the court ruling today, people have been showing up with letters for Fullmetal." She gave a slightly sheepish laugh. "I wrote him one, myself."

"But," Alfons said, staring around incredulously, "surely you don't expect him to be able to read them all...?" There were so many....

"Even if he doesn't see it, he should know everybody's thinking of him," she said. "Besides, I bet he'll get to as many as he can."

She dashed off, leaving Alfons staring after her. Now that he knew what was going on, he could make a bit more sense of what was going on. Behind what had been the hotel's front desk, two lieutenants were sorting the mail, opening it and scanning it for abuse and anything dangerous. The unsorted letters were piled at one end of it, and soldiers went back and forth with sealed sacks of mail ready to go to the prison, locking them up in one of the small weapons rooms off the lobby.

The sight brought an unexpected smile to his face, and he felt just a bit calmer. He _would_ talk to Harris, and work things out.

He spent the next half an hour searching for him.

Everybody had just seen him go by in the opposite direction, thought he was in a meeting with Mustang, heard he was sleeping, working, or in the bathroom. The longer Alfons spent looking for him, the more he remembered his nervousness.

His mind spun with imagined scenarios, the most ridiculous of them being that he would miss Harris tonight and by the next morning the lawyer would present everybody with a girl and call her Edward's girlfriend.

There – just turning the corner -

Alfons sprinted, and nearly collapsed with the resultant pain in his lungs.

"Mr. Harris," he gasped out. The lawyer turned to him, a look of mild annoyance on his face.

"I'm rather busy right now," he said, in the brusque tone Alfons' father had often used.

He didn't back down. "I need to talk to you," he said, his breath coming back under control. He ignored the curious look from Harris' companion, a middle-aged military man. "It's urgent," he added, when Harris didn't look convinced.

"Very well," the lawyer conceded. He glanced at his watch. "I suppose I can spare a few minutes. What is it?"

"It's private," he said, and tried not to stammer. He was _not_ having this conversation in the middle of the hall. He pretended, for a moment, that he wasn't going to have the conversation at all. It didn't work.

Harris didn't looked pleased, but took his leave from the other man, and lead Alfons away. Alfons wished he could have somehow gotten Harris into a better mood, but it was too late for that now.

They entered a small room which had been converted into an office, and was currently empty. Harris turned to Alfons, and crossed his arms. "Speak."

"I," Alfons began, his mouth dry. _Father, I'm in love with another man._ He resisted the urge to laugh hysterically.

Harris was tapping his foot.

"It's about Edward. And me." His hands were sweaty. He wanted desperately to wipe them on his pants, but was afraid of how it would look. They felt disgustingly clammy, and he was sure that Harris could see the sweat on Alfons' forehead-

"_Well_?"

"I like him," Alfons blurted, and felt like an idiot.

Harris looked nonplussed. "I don't understand how this is relevant to anything, really."

_You're supposed to _care, some part of him thought miserably. He wished Harris would smile at him.

"I mean," he said. He looked at the floor and swallowed, because there was no way around it. "He's... I... we...." Dizziness threatened. "We're together."

With those words, it felt like the floor fell out from under him. He had never told anybody, never admitted it out loud. Never had another person look at him and _know_ what he was, except for maybe that time with Russell but that didn't really count because he didn't know for sure and maybe they had exaggerated the whole thing -

He sneaked a look at Harris, who didn't look nearly bothered enough by the whole thing.

"Together?" Harris repeated. "Please elaborate."

_Isn't it obvious damn it,_ Alfons wanted to shout. "The two of us, we, had a house together. And we lived together, and," his face was a furious red, "slept...." his voice gave out.

Harris just looked at him. Alfons fidgeted, resisted the urge to cover his face with his hands or run screaming from the room.

"If I understand correctly," Harris said slowly, "you are claiming to be Edward Elric's... paramour?"

Admitting to being the _paramour_ of anything was pretty much beyond Alfons, but he couldn't say no because then he would have to come up with another word that described them and yeah, that was probably a worse option. Anything that got him out of talking about this any more was a good idea.

He nodded, and made a squeaky sort of affirmative sound.

"Can you present any evidence to back up your claim?"

Alfons' mind stuttered to a halt and the blush drained from his face. What kind of evidence? Was he supposed to hold Edward in public? Proclaim his undying love? Tell his _fathe-HARRIS_ about how Edward liked to be kissed? "You – you want me to _tell_ _you_ about what we-"

"No, I suppose not," Harris mused. "Sit down, son, you look like you're going to faint."

Alfons allowed his knees to buckle and collapsed into a chair. He nearly missed it, which would have resulted in an embarrassing fall on the floor.

Harris leaned against the table and rubbed his temples. "I suppose, given your reaction, this is hardly something you'd be moved to lie about."

_Say it, say it_, he told himself. With a monumental effort, he opened his mouth and forced the words out. "I want to meet with him. I have a right. The – conjugal visits." He managed not to choke over the words, and hurried ahead. "We will get a room, with a bed, I know he's not sleeping properly. I can help him – wake him up if he has nightmares – maybe he will be less unhappy."

Harris sighed. "I can't decide whether I'm angry you didn't tell me about this before, or wishing you could have kept this information to yourself. Still, it explains quite a bit. Such as your little lover's spat in the cell."

Alfons' face burned again, and he stared at the dark wooden floor.

But it was wrong, some part of him thought. Harris should have _some_ sort of personal reaction to Alfons' confession, should be castigating him for his perversions, _something_.

"This just might work," Harris said thoughtfully. "If you're here, we might as well use you to the best advantage. I'll be meeting with you later, I'd like to hear about the particulars of your relationship-"

Alfons was definitely not imagining the slight emphasis on the last word.

"-and discuss what sort of spin we'll be putting on it. You haven't told anybody else, I trust?"

Alfons shook his head mutely.

Look at the bright side, he told himself. He was going to see Edward, this time in private.

"You'll be willing to swear this before the judges, correct?"

_Oh God kill me now_. He nodded.

"Very well. I'll have to discuss this with Mustang, this has the potential to impact the case greatly. Make sure you're available."

Harris swept out of the room, leaving Alfons staring after him, still in shock.

The fact was that Harris didn't care. He truly did not give a damn that Alfons was pursuing a relationship with Edward. He shouldn't have expected it, he should know better.

He had seen Edward interact with doubles in his world often enough to know that Harris really, truly, _did not care about him_.

It hurt. God, it hurt so badly.


	39. Verdict

_Longest wait yet between chapters, I know. Another project of mine was going badly - really badly, to the point where it pretty much killed my desire to do anything creative at all. Getting told over and over how much you suck isn't actually a lot of fun. But I pushed that aside for a while, and worked on this, and it's helped, and I feel so much better to be writing again. So I am sorry, but I'm also so very incredibly happy to get this chapter up, and to have my creative drive back. I hope to return to my normal monthly updating schedule, now, and thank you all for the patience._  
_The usual thanks to my awesome betas, Yixsh, Naatz, and Cryogenia. _

* * *

Harris had, apparently, not been particularly impressed by Alfons' ability to be articulate when talking about his and Edward's relationship. As such, he had provided Alfons with a script to say before the court, and told him to learn it by heart.

Alfons was mostly thankful for it. Harris didn't know that half of the stammering was because of how he looked, and Alfons wasn't about to tell him, but having a pre-written text would save him embarrassment.

Or rather, it would have saved him embarrassment if he didn't have to stand up in front of three grim individuals and announce that he had been '_involved in a romantic and carnal relationship with Edward Elric for over two years'_.

A little star next to the word 'years' directed him to a note scribbled in the margins advising him UNDER NO CIRCUMSTANCES to mention _when_ those two years had been. They didn't want the issue of where Edward had vanished to for four years raised at all.

At first Alfons tried practicing in front of the mirror, but decided to start small – namely, mumbling the words with his face shoved into the pillow.

He knew it was irrational, but he was still waiting for some sort of doom to descend upon him. True, Harris had hardly reacted, but that couldn't be true for everybody here.

He was afraid that this confession would somehow make things worse for Edward, but if that were true, Harris would have told him to keep silent, right?

The judges would be allowed to ask him pretty much whatever they wanted, after he made the statement, so the paper included a whole bunch of instructions how to comport himself.

Alfons sighed. Most of them were pretty much impossible. He supposed he could _try_ to disguise his accent, but wasn't terribly optimistic about succeeding. As for refraining from mentioning anything suspicious – of course he wouldn't do it on purpose, but how was he supposed to know?

Other instructions, such as meeting the judges' eyes (so he didn't look like he was lying), not stammering, and the like, were more feasible. They would have to be.

His greatest fear was that somehow, this wasn't what Edward wanted. Edward should have been the one to break the news to his family and friends, on his terms, in his words. Coming from Edward, it would surely have sounded better than coming from Alfons, like this.

Right now, Edward didn't even know that most of the people he cared about seemed to not even like Alfons. What if, somehow, Alfons managed to damage Edward's relations with other people because of this? He wished he could have made a better impression, but had no idea what he could have done differently.

In Germany, Alfons had seemed to be one of very few people who had any respect for Edward. He suddenly saw their positions reversed, saw himself as the perpetual outsider, mind full of images of a world beyond this one.

He sat up, crumpled Harris' paper into a ball, and threw it across the room.

It hadn't happened yet, he told himself, trying to regulate his breathing before the twitch in his chest became a problem. Nobody thought he was crazy, here. He didn't dream of a home away from this world, because he no longer had one.

Unlike Edward, he could recognize a self-destructive thought when it was staring him in the face. He stood up and walked shakily over to where the ball of paper had rolled. Carefully, he picked it up, smoothed out the wrinkles, and returned to his bed.

* * *

Next morning, he put on his nicest borrowed clothes, tried to get his hair to lie right (he really needed a haircut), and hoped he looked respectable. He worried that he only looked terrified.

Nobody seemed to be treating him any differently, but Alfons was pretty sure that was just because they didn't know. There was no way Al would take the news with no comment.

Even if Harris hadn't spread the word, Alfons felt like the news of his preferences must be pasted on his forehead, immediately obvious to anybody who saw him. He tried to avoid people's eyes, and was uncomfortable at how easy it was. Apparently hardly anybody bothered looking at him.

One of the few people who really looked at him was Harris, who gave him a quick once-over in the courtroom before they started, and nodded satisfaction. Even though he knew better, that nod was enough to calm him, just a little.

He fidgeted his way through the proceedings, keeping an eye on the clock (which seemed to be moving far slower than usual). The only things he remembered of that day were utterly inconsequential: that Mustang wasn't there, that Winry sneezed loudly at some point, that the roof was so thick you could hardly hear the rain patter on it.

Finally, the interminable day was over. As the building cleared, Harris motioned for Alfons to stay behind. Al gave him a suspicious look, to which Alfons shrugged and tried to look innocent. When almost everybody had left, Harris returned, and led Alfons through several corridors, until they reached a smaller room, where the judges waited. There was no sign of the prosecutor.

The judges didn't look particularly impatient, and more importantly, they looked nothing like any of his family members. With a minimum of stumbling, Alfons managed to present his case. It was hard to keep his voice steady at the moment of naked shock on the judges' faces, but he managed somehow. When he finished there was silence for a few moments, until Justice Tsamis spoke.

"Why now?" he asked. "Why did you wait this long to come forward?"

Alfons swallowed, flicked his eyes over to Harris, but the lawyer didn't give him a sign. What was he supposed to say? What was _safe_ to say?

"I... miss him," Alfons tried, quashing his embarrassment. Maybe an appeal to emotion would work; he didn't even know. He could feel a blush rising, and dropped his gaze to the floor, scuffing one foot against it nervously.

Harris stepped up, then, and spent a while discussing details with the judges, leaving Alfons to deal with his apprehension. He was pretty sure they would agree, but had to work hard to keep himself from pacing.

At long last, Harris thanked the judges, and motioned Alfons to come. Nearly stumbling, Alfons chased after him. He could hardly believe it when Harris told their driver to take them to the prison.

"It worked?" Alfons asked breathlessly. "I'm going to get to see him? Now?"

Harris nodded, and elaborated when they had gotten out of the car. "Your visit will be three hours long, in a private room-"

Three hours. Alfons could hardly believe his good fortune.

"Needless to say, I'll expect a report afterwards." Harris paused. "Feel free to keep certain details to yourself."

"Details?" Then he got it. "Oh." He flushed scarlet.

"Alfons," Harris said, his voice grave. The tone made Alfons pause, look back at him.

"Right now, very few people know of your relationship. When you leave, there will probably be hardly anybody left who _doesn't_ know."

Alfons swallowed, then nodded shortly. There might have been compassion in Harris' eyes, but Alfons firmly told himself to forget it.

"Let's go, then." Harris led the way up the stairs to the prison.

* * *

Even with the court order, getting in wasn't easy. The guards didn't seem inclined to believe it, and ended up calling the court for confirmation. Somewhere around the third checkpoint, the prosecutor showed up and got into a shouting match with Harris. Alfons stood aside and watched for a few minutes, not sure what to do, but eventually decided to continue.

He was checked for contraband multiple times. His pen was confiscated, the guards went through his pockets and patted him down, even made him take off his shoes.

Now he saw the difference in treatment. The guards would look at him, look at the court order, and when they looked back at him their gaze changed – there was something appraising about it, something incredulous. At least nobody had made any comments, yet.

He was so deep inside the prison he probably couldn't have found his way out, but he refused to let that bother him. Every step brought him closer to Edward.

A metal door was unlocked, revealing a small cell with a bed and sink, instead of more endless corridor.

"There you are," the guard said, nudging him in. Alfons looked around the tiny, dull, cell. No trace of Edward; he was probably still on the way.

"Now, listen, you," the guard said, pointing at him. "I'm not taking responsibility for what Mr. Homicidal might do to you."

Alfons felt a stab of anger and opened his mouth to retort, but the guard wasn't finished yet.

"If we hear screaming, we'll try to help you, but getting the locks open might take some time. Have fun," he leered.

"Fuck you," Alfons snapped, wishing he dared punch him.

"Ah-ah, _I_don't swing that way." The guard smirked, obviously pleased with himself, and left with a slam of the door.

Alfons forced his fists to unclench, wished he could make his stomach do the same, and sank onto the bed. The mattress was crap, and Alfons smiled wryly. Reminded him of Germany.

He rested his elbows on his knees and stared pensively at nothing. He really hoped he had made the right decision. He could hardly imagine what things would be like when he left here, when everybody knew....

No use borrowing trouble. He might as well make the most of this.

Noises from outside made him look up, his heart fluttering. The locks clicked open and Edward shuffled in, chained hand and foot, in the company of two guards and the one Alfons had met before.

Edward didn't move while they were unchaining him, didn't raise his head, and Alfons convinced himself it was because they probably hadn't told him. Edward would be happy once they were alone.

"Three hours," one of the guards said. "On the dot." His expression was sour, as if he hated giving them even that much.

Alfons could tell that Edward was confused, but waited until the door was locked to speak.

"Edward."

Edward jerked, and momentary panic flitted across his face. Alfons crushed his fear and stood, touching him gently on the shoulder. "Edward, it's me."

"Alfons?" Edward touched Alfons' fingers where they lay on his shoulder, sending a bolt of heat through him. "It's... really you?"

"Yeah."

Edward turned towards him, but didn't try to shake off Alfons' hand. He ran his fingers slowly up Alfons' arm, brushed them across Alfons' cheek in the lightest of touches.

Mouth dry, Alfons watched his glassy, unfocused eyes, and resisted the urge to clasp the hand to him.

"Alfons, I'm-"

"Come sit down," Alfons cut him off, tugging him towards the bed. He didn't want to hear apologies, not when Edward looked so fragile he might fall apart. And if it wasn't an apology Edward had started, Alfons didn't want to hear it, either.

Pliant, Edward followed him to the bed, obviously trusting Alfons to lead him. Alfons urged him down, noting with worry the stiffness of his movements, as if moving the automail took too much out of him.

They were close together, legs touching, Alfons' fingers itching to pull Edward to him. He had to keep reminding himself to be careful, not to freak Edward out, not to come on too strong. Not to give Edward a reason to push him away, and not to let him if he tried.

"How did you..." Edward trailed off, head down, and played absently with the fabric of Alfons' sleeve.

Alfons stared at his fingers, and was unprepared for the sudden longing that rushed through him, an almost uncontrollable desire to reassure himself that Edward was still _alive_, which left his heart pounding and his mouth dry.

"You're," he began, thought of touching him, but could hardly see an inch of skin that wasn't marked with bruises. "Are you okay?"

It was a stupid question.

"Just great," said Edward.

He didn't need Edward to say anything more, because he was making no attempt to hide the real answer his body told – in the slump of his shoulders, in the downward curve of his neck, in the weak pull of his fingers against Alfons' clothes. The faint beard made him look older, scruffier, and Alfons wondered who shaved him, if anybody bothered.

Watching him was more than Alfons could bear. There were no barriers, now, no chains, no guards, and not even the warning voice in his head was enough to keep him from pulling Edward close, feeling how _real_ he was, how thin he had grown, how-

-he was stiffening, pulling away.

Not Edward, too....

"I'm not so pathetic I need a _hug_," Edward snapped. Alfons dropped his arms, the sting of hurt sapping his strength.

_He_ was so pathetic.

The silence grew heavier, Alfons' breaths coming louder and louder. He clenched his fists, tried to reason his way through this. He was here for Edward, not himself. If Edward needed him to be stoic, he would do his best.

Was it really so weak of him?

"Shit," Edward muttered, and jerked his head up to look in Alfons' direction. "Shit, Alfons, I didn't mean-" He fumbled with his flesh hand, and Alfons couldn't help but flinch at the touch on his back. He would resist, he was stronger than this.

He was completely incapable of pretending he wasn't undone when Edward held onto him, wrapped both arms around his chest, and pressed his face into Alfons' collarbone. With a small noise, Alfons buried his face in Edward's neck.

He smelled a bit stale, a bit like sweat, with a hint of rough soap. His hair was greasy and tangled, but Alfons buried his fingers in it anyway, pressed his lips to the skin behind Edward's ear, and inhaled.

He had missed him so badly.

Edward pulled his legs onto the bed and held on to Alfons, and that was enough to ease a hurt Alfons himself had hardly been aware of.

"Careful – my ribs –"

"Sorry." Alfons released him quickly, breath catching. Nothing he did could possibly heal Edward's wounds, and he felt stupid for even offering comfort.

But a hint of a smile quirked at the edge of Edward's lips, and he pulled Alfons' arms back around him, and hugged him close. Like this, they hardly needed words to communicate.

Edward's automail hand was fisted in the fabric at Alfons' back, while his flesh hand massaged gently at his neck, then moved upwards toward his scalp, sending sparks down Alfons' spine.

The smile that spread across Edward's face was genuine. "Your hair got long," he said, enchanted, tugging at the strands.

"It's annoying," Alfons said, though he felt a thrill. He couldn't keep the answering smile off his face.

"I wish..." Edward looked wistful, and ran his fingers through it.

Alfons needed to return the smile that was slipping off Edward's face. "I can wait with cutting it," he said. "At least until you can see it."

Edward tried to smile, but his expression crumpled, his thoughts painted across his face, clear as day.

"My sight came back," Alfons said softly. He tangled his fingers in Edward's, gripping tightly. "Yours will, too."

"That's not-" Edward stopped, took a breath, before he expelled it and snapped his mouth shut.

Something else was wrong, Alfons knew it, and had to stop himself from pouncing on the words-almost-said to demand an answer. He wouldn't make the same mistake twice.

"If it takes me too fucking long, just cut it," he finally said. "I know it annoys you." He leaned over, bumped his forehead on Alfons' shoulder. "Chorosho tebya vidit."

Alfons stilled. He forced himself to speak lightly. "Edward, you know I don't understand Russian. What's the big secret?"

Edward jerked away, and Alfons didn't miss the flash of panic. "I wasn't speaking Russian."

Alfons figured that didn't merit a response. "Obviously you haven't been drinking-"

"Where the fuck would I get alcohol? I barely get _food_!"

Ignoring _that_ took more effort. "Maybe one of the guards is Drachman? The language seems to be sort of similar." He watched Edward's face carefully for his reaction.

"Yeah," Edward said, after a moment. "Maybe..."

It obviously wasn't.

"So how did you get in, anyway?"

Either Alfons was getting better at recognizing Edward's attempts at derailing, or Edward was being exceptionally clumsy about it. Still, as long as Edward was communicating in some way, Alfons wouldn't do anything that might make him stop.

He opened his mouth to answer, and hesitated. Answering meant explaining what he had done – but he had promised not to keep any secrets. If Edward were angry at him, he wasn't sure what he would do.

"I told them I'm your... boyfriend." Alfons stared studiously at the wall across from them, not daring to look at Edward. Edward wasn't answering, and wasn't answering, and Alfons' rising fear translated into an uncontrollable babble. "Because according to Amestris law, that lets me visit you. More often, and a long time, probably more than anybody else. And we get this room and stuff-"

Edward's hand on his knee made him fall silent. "Don't worry so much," Edward said gruffly. "I'm sure it's going to work out."

Alfons' heart sank, even as his mind spun in an attempt to understand the words. They were so noncommittal as to be practically meaningless, and Edward was probably beyond disappointed, and he would probably never say anything, and why had Alfons had to open his big mouth and pile _another_ worry onto Edward, who was going through so much already?

"Alfons?" Edward looked towards him, his brows pulled together in worry. "Look, I know... it's difficult for you. You were always so worried about people finding out..." Edward paused. "I'm talking nonsense, aren't I?"

Alfons leaned over to kiss him on the temple. "No," he said, trying to keep his voice steady. Even now, Edward was trying to help him, which was pretty much the opposite of what he was trying to achieve. "No, you're not."

Slightly encouraged, Edward continued. "It sucks that I'm stuck in here, but I, I want you to know, you can rely on Al no matter what," he said.

... Right.

"I wish I could – but – if you need anything, please ask him, okay? I know he'd help you out."

"Er, yeah," Alfons said, because he didn't have the heart to say anything else. "But that's not why I'm here." He could do the subject-changing thing, too.

It worked; Edward looked curious, and allowed Alfons to pull him down on the bed, though his ears turned a bit red. He only resisted momentarily, to run his hand over the surface of the bed to make sure there was nothing unexpected in the way, before he willingly lay down beside Alfons. The bed was small, hardly wide enough for the two of them, even lying face-to-face as they were. Alfons tangled his legs in Edward's, encouraged Edward to rest his arm across Alfons' waist, and didn't miss the slightly uneven breath Edward drew at the contact. Edward's face was so close his breath was warm on Alfons' chin, and he raised a hand to gently brush his hair back behind his ear, and ran his thumb over Edward's too-prominent cheekbone.

"You haven't been sleeping, have you?" he murmured. "I promise I'll wake you up if you have any nightmares."

A shamed flush spread over Edward's cheeks, and he turned his face away from Alfons' hand.

But... he had known for ages about Edward's nightmares, Edward had even _told_ him about them! Why was Edward drawing away from him now?

"I haven't been sleeping well, without you," Alfons tried. That did work, in a way; Edward looked guilty, for a moment, then hugged Alfons closer.

Edward wanted to stop needing him, wanted to hide-

Alfons cut off the thoughts, and was just thankful for this much: for Edward near him, the warmth of him against his skin.

"Let me get this straight," Edward said. "You went to all this trouble just so we could get an hour's sleep?"

"And cuddle," Alfons added. Edward snorted, and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like 'sap'.

For a few minutes they just lay there, occasionally shifting against each other. Edward closed his eyes, and the darkness around them became more apparent. Alfons wanted to kiss him again, but didn't.

"You'll wake me up?" Edward asked quietly.

"Yeah." Even though Edward couldn't see, Alfons smiled at him. Because Edward couldn't see, he didn't know how weak a smile it was.

With a long sigh, Edward relaxed. Within moments his breath had evened out, and his expression had relaxed into an uneasy peace.

He really was beyond exhausted.

For a time, Alfons lay awake and just watched him through slightly unfocused eyes. Whenever Edward stirred or whimpered, Alfons would stroke him, murmur nonsense at him. After a time his sleep grew deeper.

This was something only he could give Edward. He told himself that it was enough.

He was supposed to watch over Edward, but as time passed, his eyelids grew heavier and heavier. He wasn't warm, and he wasn't particularly comfortable or content, and Edward's automail hummed disturbingly loudly in the silence – even so, he closed his eyes, held Edward close, and fell asleep easier than he had since they had arrived in Amestris.

* * *

Somebody was shaking him, hard. Alfons fought his way to consciousness, completely disoriented. He opened his eyes to Edward's bright hair, and beyond that was a guard, who was shaking him awake.

Humiliation burned through his belly as reality crashed down on him, he felt sick at being caught with his arms around Edward, wanted more than anything to hide. Edward was waking up, confused, and Alfons _couldn't_ push him away. He swallowed, tried to wipe his face clean of feeling.

Two other guards stood behind the first one, and all three were contemplating, with slight disgust, the way Edward and Alfons were twined about each other. With as much dignity as he could muster, Alfons sat up, untangled himself, and smoothed his clothes.

"Alfons?"

Edward was still groggy, and tried to hold on to him.

"Our time is up," he said, in English, gently detaching his arms. Edward's face fell for a moment, then became stony when the guard roughly told him to hold out his hands for the cuffs.

Alfons rested one hand on his arm, and squeezed as hard as he dared.

"You must know, they can't keep me away from you." He met the guards eyes' as he spoke, feeling a slight triumph at their annoyance. "Even if they threaten you or tell you they won't let us meet, they can't. We have a court order. I promise I will come back the day after tomorrow."

"I'll be waiting," Edward said, trying hard to sound flippant. "Not like I have anywhere to go."

Alfons could see, in the few moments before they were separated, how hard Edward fought for his composure. And yet... he looked just a little better rested, just a little stronger than he had three hours ago.

It had been time well spent. Alfons forced himself to hold his head high, and followed the guards out of the prison, squaring his shoulders against whatever he might have to face.

* * *

To his slight disappointment, Harris wasn't there to meet him. Instead, two of Mustang's soldiers, whom he had met previously, were waiting.

"Brace yourself," Davy said, when they stepped out of the prison gates.

A sea of flashbulbs greeted Alfons, and the cacophony of questions being shouted at him was deafening. Alfons hung back, briefly considered running back into the prison.

"Don't be a chicken," Charlotte told him, and cheerfully pushed him into the crowd.

Being tall meant that Alfons couldn't really hide even if he wanted to. The evening papers would probably sport plenty of unflattering pictures of him, and this would be his first time being featured in the press, too.

He could gripe about it to Edward. It might make him smile.

They made it safely to the car, and he buried his face in his hands. Oh God, it was real.

* * *

The entire drive was impossibly awkward. Though normally talkative, Charlotte was now silent, and stared straight ahead stiffly. On the other hand, Alfons seemed to be constantly catching Davy's eyes in the rearview mirror, every time he looked up. Alfons tried to keep his eyes out the window, and wished they would just _say_ something.

At long last they arrived back at the hotel, and Alfons still didn't know what to expect. They would be going in, and he would have to confront _everybody_, and-

"Hey," he said, his voice strangled. They both paused, and he wasn't imagining it, they wouldn't meet his eyes. "Is... is this alright?" He couldn't think of how to phrase it.

For a time both of them were silent – long enough for Alfons to notice how cold the wind was, and that some snow had gotten into his shoe.

Charlotte spoke, fiddling with a strand of her dark hair. "Look, it's weird. I mean, he's _the Fullmetal Alchemist_. He's a _hero_."

_And who the hell are _you_? _was heavily implied.

Alfons didn't say anything, and the two soldiers gratefully slipped away.

He had loved Edward when nobody else had. Shouldn't that count for something? He had come to terms with the fact that Al didn't consider him worth much, but for everybody to think like that....

Better get inside. He hurried forward, and tried to steel himself.

Vague thoughts of being unobtrusive ran through his mind, but they all vanished the moment he was inside the building. A hush descended, and no, he wasn't imagining it, pretty much everybody had paused to look at him.

Alfons headed for the stairs as quickly as he could, feeling sweat trickle down his neck. Murmurs followed him, and none of them sounded happy. Probably talking about how somebody like him had no business being with Edward.

"Alfons."

It was Mustang. Alfons entertained the thought of flight, but held his ground. When he saw Mustang's face, it became harder to.

"Come with me," Mustang said. He didn't even pause, just strode away, secure in the knowledge that Alfons would follow. Before the eyes of the entire room, Alfons could hardly do otherwise.

In an attempt to calm down, he reminded himself that Mustang was pretty much Michaels, and that Michaels had hardly been a terrifying person. Also, Michaels had been a decent man, and – who was he kidding, he knew well enough that the doubles had no relation to each other. He swallowed bitterness.

They didn't go far. Mustang entered the first conference room they came across, and evicted five soldiers with a jerk of his head. The room was far too big for just the two of them, spare and echoing, a blackboard and a no-nonsense table surrounded by chairs being the only furniture.

"Sit down," Mustang ordered, and motioned at one of the chairs. He pulled one over for himself, and sat across from Alfons, a stern expression on his face.

Alfons sank into the chair slowly, and reminded himself he had nothing to fear.

"So," Mustang began. "You say you're... how would you define your relationship with Edward?"

Alfons swallowed, and tried not to avoid Mustang's intense black eye. He could feel heat rising in his face. "Um... lovers?" he tried, in a small voice. At Mustang's look, he shrank down in his seat.

"Very well," Mustang said. "And this has been going on for two years?"

"Y-yes, sir."

Mustang drummed his fingers on the arm of his chair. "What are your feelings towards him?"

God, this couldn't have been more awkward if it had been Professor Hohenheim sitting across from him. Actually, the professor would probably have been a lot less embarrassing.

Alfons clasped his hands in his lap and willed his voice to be steady before he spoke. "It's... you could say... well, I just... I... love him," Alfons faltered, and didn't understand why that admission made something twinge unpleasantly in his chest.

Mustang leaned forward. "You are the spitting image of his _brother_. This doesn't strike you as wrong?"

He should have expected it. He should have known it was coming, for goodness' sake he had thought it often enough. But hearing somebody else say it made it so much more _real_.

All of his past reasoning fled his mind. In the end, he just managed to say, "But I'm _not_ his brother." In Germany, that had been enough.

Mustang didn't respond to that. Instead - "How did it start?"

The thought of not answering didn't even cross Alfons' mind, he was so relieved to be changing the subject. He stared at the wall for a moment, remembering. Remembered the first time Edward had helped him in the lab, and how utterly capable he had looked, with his strong arms and eyes that lit up when he got excited about a breakthrough. The joy of debating with a mind as sharp as his, the desire to bring a smile to his face, the see-saw of emotions when Edward had first started telling him stories of his world, until the realization that Edward was, impossibly, completely _sane_.

That was where he started: when Edward had proven that he had come from another world, and how that was enough for Alfons to consider the possibility of more. Edward's initial rejection, and (with some prompting), its aftermath of a kiss which Edward had liked-

Alfons broke off, his face burning. At least nobody would think he was lying, but oh God, he couldn't believe he had actually said any of that aloud.

"So you admit that you were the instigator of your relationship."

Alfons was reminded of the courtroom. He nodded.

"And you knew that you were identical to his brother."

"Not at first...."

"But early on." Mustang waited for Alfons to nod, then continued. "Do you really think Edward could have denied you?"

Alfons reeled, felt lightheaded from lack of air.

"You said yourself that you were his only friend. When you came and demanded a physical relationship with him, would he have even recognized having the option of refusing?"

"That's not true!" Alfons found himself on his feet, fists clenched. "Edward wouldn't _let_ me push him around like that!"

_He remembered pinning him down, understanding too late that Edward wasn't capable of tossing him off._

He kept his voice steady. "We've been together for _two years_," he snarled. "Don't you _dare_ say it was a lie! You don't know anything about us!"

_Mustang had known Edward for far longer than Alfons._

"I believe that you love him," said Mustang quietly. "Which is why I'm asking you to consider seriously what is right for him."

"Me leaving him would not be right for him in any way."

"What did you do today?"

Alfons didn't want to answer any more. He wanted to tell Mustang to go to hell and storm off. But he couldn't leave the man with even a hint of doubt. "I-"

Edward didn't like telling people about his nightmares.

"We-"

Edward was usually embarrassed by displays of affection, and probably wouldn't want Alfons telling Mustang they slept curled together.

"He slept. I promised I'd watch over him. He's exhausted."

There – Mustang was no longer quite so sure of himself. If Mustang knew Edward at all, he would know that Edward didn't relax easily around people.

_He's mine_, Alfons thought fiercely. _He loves me_.

Mustang rose slowly, his uncertainty hidden once more. "That will be all, for now," he said.

Alfons watched, bewildered, as he turned to leave. "That's _it_?" he blurted.

Mustang paused and looked back briefly. "I've heard enough," he said.

How could this conversation have possibly been _enough_? He hadn't even given Alfons a chance to properly explain himself!

"But-"

Mustang had already left.

* * *

Everybody was talking about him. Alfons had chalked it up to paranoia, at first, but after a while he could no longer deny that people tended to fall silent when he drew near. At dinner in the mess hall, nobody would meet his eyes, so he sat alone at the end of one of the long tables.

Out of the corners of his eyes he could see that people were poring over newspapers – which probably had articles about him. He had to resist the urge to ask to see one.

After about fifteen minutes of pushing his food around on his plate he decided enough was enough. He held himself stiff as he deposited his dishes in the proper places, and resisted the urge to turn around at the feel of eyes on his back.

Nobody said anything to him as he left the room, and nobody stopped him on his way upstairs. It was a good thing he had taken a book out of the library, because the evening was looking to be a long one. There was no way he would dare sneak out of the base, not after seeing the circus that had awaited him outside the prison.

In the sitting room near his room, he chanced across a whole stack of newspapers. He tried to walk by, but out of the corner of his eye he caught sight of a picture of himself, and couldn't resist. Luckily, nobody was around to see him.

He carried the whole pile over to one of the low tables, sat down, and took a deep breath.

_Homicidal Alchemist Gets Laid_, read the first headline. Alfons' heart was doing uncomfortable acrobatics in his chest. The first page sported a picture of him, taken outside the prison. He looked small and scared, and maybe Alfons would have better luck with the next newspaper.

_The Boyfriend Hoax_, it read, and had a two large pictures – one of Al, one of Alfons right beneath it. Alfons stared at their two faces, made more similar by the black and white, and felt ill.

He picked up the newspaper, and scrutinized the pictures. They weren't _that_ similar, after all. The shape of Al's chin was slightly rounder, his nose more upturned. Alfons' jaw was squarer, and Al had a large freckle on his left cheek which Alfons didn't, and-

He was fooling himself. They looked really fucking alike.

Maybe Edward had been fooling himself all these years, as well. The thought sent a chill down Alfons' spine.

The other papers had similar titles, ranging from _Love Behind Bars _to the more businesslike _The People's Hero's Boyfriend_.

To distract himself, he turned his attention to the text. Nobody seemed to know much about him, aside from his name. One of the newspapers wrote a scathing attack against the very idea of a murderer like Edward being allowed such visits, while another suggested that it was simply a ruse to get Edward more visiting hours, and Alfons was actually Al in disguise. Or a distant cousin. They were undecided.

Somebody cleared their throat, and Alfons jumped.

"Enjoying seeing yourself in the papers?" Winry asked. Her arms were crossed, and she looked down at him with an unreadable expression.

"Not particularly," Alfons managed, when he had gotten his pulse back under control. He watched warily as she sat down across from him, and his stomach coiled with nerves. _Not again_.

"So is it true, what they say?"

At least she was looking at him. Though, it didn't make answering any easier. "What exactly is it they're saying?" he evaded.

Winry raised an eyebrow. "Thetabloids are full of descriptions of your steamy prison romance-"

"I get the point," Alfons said quickly. "We only slept. _Only_," he added, when she looked skeptical again.

Winry was quiet for a moment, drumming her fingers on her thigh. "Did he say anything about what's bothering him?"

"I didn't ask. When he wants to talk, he will. He always does." Belatedly, he remembered that this didn't seem to hold true for Edward's interactions with anybody else.

Winry met his eyes, her expression intense. "How did you do it? How did you get him to notice you?"

Alfons' heart sank. Any hope of Winry being sympathetic dwindled to nothing in an instant, because Winry liked Edward, too.

Mustang wasn't pleased, Al was sure to be angry, and now Winry.... How would he break this to Edward?

"I didn't let him ignore me," Alfons said, remembering how long it had taken him to realize that if he didn't confront Edward, Edward would just go on pretending he didn't notice.

"You wouldn't take 'no' for an answer."

"No!" Alfons snapped, too harshly. "I just wanted any answer. I couldn't let him pretend he didn't notice. If he had said no, I would have accepted it." But he hadn't – he had come back and kissed Edward.

"That's why you came, isn't it?" she asked. "You're head over heels for him. Enough to leave your whole world behind."

Put like that, it sounded pretty naive. Alfons colored, and scuffed his shoe against the floor in agitation.

"How _romantic_." She looked unhappy, and Alfons was feeling increasingly uncomfortable.

"I didn't know you were... interested," he said in a small voice. "Edward never said-"

"No, he wouldn't have, would he," Winry bit out. She stood up and marched off, hair fluttering angrily behind her.

_But he _does_ care,_ Alfons wanted to say. He had talked about Winry often, just not in a romantic way....

Alfons stood up, determined to go after her. He caught up with her just as she was leaving the room.

"He never forgot about you," he blurted. "He talked about you often, about all of you. I knew you were important to him way before we came." He spoke as earnestly as he could, trying to hold her gaze, hoping she would believe him. "And I know how badly he missed your automail...."

Winry snorted. "Men," she proclaimed, and exited.

* * *

Alfons mostly spent the rest of the evening worried, and went to bed early.

He couldn't fall asleep, though. Mustang's words were still spinning through his mind, even though he fought to ignore them.

It just didn't make any _sense_. Edward wouldn't have lied to him for two years. He thought of how often Edward liked to surprise him, pounce on him – that certainly wasn't something Alfons had instigated!

_He used to spar with Al._

Edward was so gentle with him when he was hurt, or ill, or after a particularly bad bout of coughing.

_He had taken care of Al ever since they were children_.

They had sex. True, not so much lately, but that was more lack of opportunity than anything else. He thought of how Edward looked when he got excited, how he liked to sneak up on Alfons and kiss him senseless.

That was _real_, and that wasn't because of Al. And there was more – Edward even liked how Alfons looked, liked his blue eyes and his collarbone and was excited about Alfons' hair getting long-

_Al had long hair_.

He felt ill.

His dreams that night were confused and unhappy. He dreamed of wandering their house in Germany, searching for Edward through long corridors he didn't remember. When he finally reached their room, he found Edward kissing his brother. Alfons woke up, disturbed and homesick, to see dawn just creeping over the buildings.

* * *

He caught a glimpse of Al that morning, as they were leaving. Al didn't pay any attention to him, which was so _normal_ it made Alfons worried. He didn't believe for a moment that Al was unaffected by the revelation.

The daily fight into the courtroom was already a common occurrence, considering that it had been going on since the start of the trial, over a month ago. The only difference was that today the reporters were clamoring to get at Alfons, too. He followed everybody else's lead, pushed his way in silently, but for a "no comment" tossed off every so often.

When Edward came in, Alfons scrutinized him for any change, and concluded that he looked a bit better. Only the tiniest shift was visible, but it was enough to encourage Alfons. A little. Alfons had by now pretty much stopped watching Edward during the trial, since he didn't react to much. Mostly, he sat with his head down, chained arms in his lap, his face unreadable.

More encouraging was the fact that the trial was going _well_. Harris had been calling witnesses for the past few days, and was doing an amazing job. It was growing increasingly clear that the prosecution had a spurious case at best.

On cross-examination, Harris proved that none of the prosecution's witnesses had any hard evidence that Edward had actually been involved in the Lior incident, though everybody knew he had been stationed in the vicinity at the time.

Then Harris had started calling witnesses, and it was beautiful to watch. A seemingly endless parade of people – both military and civilian – talked about how Edward had warned against entering Lior. There was written documentation from Mustang which corroborated said warning.

To further strengthen his case, that there was no way Edward Elric would ever be involved in mass murder, Harris also presented a series of character witnesses. Plenty of people were willing to testify about how Edward had helped them out in various heroic ways, some of them with familiar faces. That morning, to Alfons' surprise, Russel was called to the witness stand. Harris' questioning went off without a hitch, but Alfons was already dreading the cross-examination. Thus far, the prosecutor had managed to twist nearly everybody's testimony. He only hoped that it would be different in Russel's case, but he was afraid to be overly optimistic.

Prosecutor Roscoe began. "Under what circumstances did you meet?"

Russel seemed pretty calm, and Alfons just hoped he wouldn't let down his guard too much.

"We got into a fight, because he found out I had been impersonating him to do research."

"Did he seem to take it in stride?"

Alfons wished Russel hadn't said anything about a fight.

"He was pretty pissed off, but I wasn't exactly helping the issue...." Realizing this could be taken badly, Russel added, "I did impersonate him, after all. It's not surprising he was angry."

"How exactly did this 'pissed off' emotion manifest itself?" Roscoe asked.

"We got into a bit of a fight, like I said..." Russel grinned a bit nervously. "But I was the one who started it, I was teasing him about his height."

"Would you say this reaction is fairly standard for him, when his height is remarked on?"

"Objection!" Harris burst in. "Leading question."

Roscoe didn't miss a beat. "Rephrase. In your experience, how does Mr. Elric usually react to his height being remarked upon?"

"Um... pissed off, I guess..." Russel shifted his feet. "It _does_ make sense," he added hopefully.

Alfons sighed. No, this wasn't going to go well, either.

"And does this emotion manifest itself in the same way?"

Russel was now trying very hard not to look to Harris for help. "Mostly, I think..."

Roscoe swooped in for the attack. "Would you consider Mr. Elric a violent sort of person overall?"

"Objection!" Harris practically shouted, almost before he had finished talking.

Alfons buried his face in his hands. It was like that every time – Roscoe consistently managed to paint Edward as hot-headed, prone to violence, short-tempered, insubordinate, and possessive of a distinct criminal bent. It was enough to make Alfons want to bang his head against the wall, and simultaneously thank his lucky stars he wasn't made to testify.

Worrisome was the fact that even in the face of all this, Edward didn't react.

Still. Harris had been hired to show that Edward hadn't killed anybody in Lior, not to save him from character assassination, as he commented to Mustang once.

"Nobody _cares_ if he committed fraud," Harris had snapped in exasperation. "And none of his fans give a damn if he punched some idiots for calling him short. Hell, those selfsame idiots are probably _proud_ nowadays to have been personally punched by the Fullmetal Alchemist. _Please_ let me do my job."

In the afternoon, the prosecution began presenting expert witnesses to discuss the type of alchemist who would be able to do a transmutation on the scale of Lior. No real conclusion was reached, but the end of that day left Alfons feeling more optimistic than usual – optimism which vanished the moment he stepped out the doors of the courthouse, and a hundred photographers snapped pictures of him and Al side by side.

Immediately upon returning to the hotel, Alfons grabbed the nearest soldier and went to a barber, before he could think twice. He left his fringe longer, the way he normally wore it, but got the rest cut severely short. Afterwards, Alfons stood in the bathroom and stared at his reflection dolefully.

He ran his fingers through his hair, the feel of air on his scalp strange, and felt a twinge in his chest, reminded of Edward's fingers carding through it only yesterday.

Cutting it had been pointless, because he still looked like Al. Nothing he did would change that, because _they were the same person_.

* * *

It was now two days after Alfons had come out, and mostly, there had been no backlash. Painful as it was, people ignoring him wasn't as bad as what he had feared the reactions would be. True, several newspapers had written snide articles about how unsurprising it was that somebody as disturbed and violent as Edward would be homosexual as well. But when 'homosexual' was the least of the names being tacked on Edward, it was hard to be too worried about it.

Even so, the glee with which newspapers played with the alliteration of "homicidal" and "homosexual" got old. It wasn't even _good_ alliteration, for God's sake.

As for himself, he felt sort of dumb complaining, even if only to himself, about not getting enough attention. Almost everybody, even people who had been friendly with him before, now showed signs of discomfort whenever he drew near. He spent his evenings alone in his room, read books, and told himself it was nice to have peace and quiet.

That morning he brushed his teeth with more intensity than usual, tried to keep his eyes off his reflection, while images of last night's dream ran through his head – wandering the streets of Munich, vivid details contrasting with blurs of forgetfulness.

Court that day was mostly a continuation of the day before, dealing with trying to prove that Edward had been responsible for Lior by virtue of his capabilities. Witnesses cited research that had been done on alchemists, in which Edward had participated, that ranked him among the most powerful alchemists in Amestris, and possibly even in the surrounding countries. All the experts agreed that it would take an alchemist approximating that calibre to manage destruction on such a scale, and Edward was the only one known to have been in the vicinity at the time.

Harris pointed out that said research had actually found Edward's data unreliable, and had removed him from the statistical results in the conclusion, because the data had been "nonsensical". (He didn't mention what Mustang had said the night before, that Edward's results had been off the charts.) Therefore, that research was an unreliable measure of Edward's alchemical ability.

Furthermore, just because Edward was _capable_ of doing disastrous alchemy didn't mean he was responsible for Lior. It was circumstantial evidence at best, and didn't hold up in the least, especially in light of all the evidence previously presented about how Edward had been actually trying to save the soldiers in his vicinity.

Throughout the day nobody mentioned the Philosopher's Stone even once. Alfons wondered if they didn't know about it, or if it was deemed information too dangerous to be exposed so publicly.

Afterwards, Harris sent him to the prison to see Edward again, but didn't accompany him. He took a few moments to explain to Alfons that with the trial reaching its conclusion, he couldn't spare even that much time, but to call if anything went wrong. Alfons nodded, and went.

The prison guards were even more obnoxious this time around, exchanging knowing glances with each other and sniggering behind his back. It was all very juvenile.

Alfons worried that they would confiscate the hairbrush he had brought, but after several minutes of discussion, they decided to allow it in. Two guards led him away from the checkpoint, and down corridors which were becoming unhappily familiar.

Once away from the others, they exchanged a glance.

"So," the one on his right said, "we might be willing to be fifteen or so minutes late getting you out."

Alfons looked up sharply, but couldn't read anything on the man's round features. A glance at the dark-skinned one on his left was no more helpful. He decided to go for caution. "That would be nice."

Both guards looked pleased. "Nothing's free, though," the dark one warned. "Give us a hand, and we'll turn a blind eye."

Alfons was starting to feel uncomfortable. "What do you want?"

"Just answer a question."

"Which is?"

"You're the girl, right?" the right-hand one asked.

"What?" Alfons stopped walking and stared.

"You know, when you fuck. You're the one who takes it up the ass, yes?"

Alfons's eyes darted between the two of them, bewildered. "Why?" he managed. What business of it was theirs? But on the other hand, to get fifteen more minutes for Edward... how far would he go? Could he go?

"Morgan's got fifty cenz riding on it," the dark one said, pointing at the other with his thumb. "I'm just corroboration."

They were taking bets on how Edward and Alfons had sex. Alfons' stomach roiled, and he stormed ahead. If he told them, it would probably be barely an hour until news of their habits spread to the newspapers.

It didn't help that they were still discussing it behind him.

"Did you see how embarrassed he was? He's got to be the bottom."

"I don't know, I still think Fullmetal's got sort of girly looks. What the fuck's up with his hair, you tell me?"

"Yo, Boyfriend, you sure you won't talk?"

Alfons ignored them, albeit with difficulty.

Once again, he arrived first, though he didn't have as long to wait as the last time. Surprisingly, Edward was escorted in by a female soldier with short, dark hair, who he was actually talking to.

She gave Alfons an encouraging smile before leaving.

"Who was that?" Alfons asked. Edward came over to him, hardly hesitating at all before he took Alfons' hand. Was it because Edward felt more comfortable now, or because it was what he thought Alfons wanted?

"Maria Ross," he said. "I knew her, before. I have no idea how Mustang sneaked her in." He shook his head in admiration. "She smuggled me in some chocolate."

Just for that, Alfons was prepared to like her. "I'm glad." Alfons allowed himself to hug Edward close. See, Edward was holding him, too, nobody had forced him to-

"Hey, Edward, give me your back. I brought you something."

"What is it?" As he spoke, Edward shifted around, sitting cross-legged on the bed in front of Alfons.

"Brush," said Alfons. He would have brought a razor to shave Edward properly, but there was no way the guards would have let that through, so he would make do with this. He slid the tie out of Edward's hair, letting it fall down his back. He had long ago learned the proper way to brush Edward's hair – starting from the bottom and working his way up.

"You're amazing," Edward said, sighing in an unmistakably happy way. As Alfons worked out the tangles, he slowly relaxed, occasionally arching into Alfons' hands when they touched his scalp and neck.

"There." Alfons set aside the brush, and ran his fingers through the golden waves of Edward's hair in satisfaction. It still wasn't the cleanest, but at least the knots were gone. "How do you want it? A ponytail or a braid?"

Edward shifted, and the tips of his ears turned red. "However you like it best," he said, trying hard not to be self-conscious.

Alfons smiled, but then it faded. If Edward was ignoring his own will in favor of Alfons'-

This was _crap_. Edward loved him, and liked it when Alfons found him attractive. That was it.

He tied Edward's hair up, kissed the now-exposed nape of his neck, and watched it turn red, too.

"Are we going to sleep?" Edward asked, turning towards him a bit, checking how his hair had turned out with his flesh hand.

"Yeah." He was so beautiful.

Edward snorted in reply. "Then wasn't it kind of stupid to fix my hair up now? It'll just get mussed again."

"I'll do it again when we wake up, if you want."

"Not if it's like last time, and the guards have to wake us up."

Alfons sighed. "Next time I'll bring an alarm clock, is there anything else you want? A piano maybe?"

He immediately regretted it, and opened his mouth to apologize, but-

"Great idea," said Edward. "Yeah, I want a piano." And he was actually smiling.

"It wouldn't fit in here," Alfons said. "Do you have a better impractical idea?"

Edward thought a moment. "I could poke you, and you could make piano sounds."

It was so _stupid_, but God, he had missed this. He didn't even bother trying to wipe the silly smile off his face.

"It would probably end badly for the windows," Alfons said. Edward was so close to him, his mouth was _right there_, and he looked happy. Maybe nobody else was letting him joke around.

"If there _were _any, here." The smile was faded around the edges, now.

Alfons decided to take a risk. "The interior design here is so pretty, they don't _need_ windows."

Edward snorted.

"The upholstery is especially nice-" Alfons was cut off by a kiss. A proper one, full on the mouth, and that was enough to make him forget that when Edward kissed him he always, _always_ went for the hair-

Edward pulled away, scuffed his fingers through Alfons' short hair, then let go of the back of his head. Nervousness choked Alfons.

"You cut it," Edward said. He looked hurt. "I understand," he added. "I know it annoys you, I wouldn't have asked you to-"

"It's not that!" Alfons cut him off, and squeezed his hand, in lieu of meeting his eyes. "It doesn't have anything to do with that. I _did_ want to keep it..." He trailed off, because he didn't know what else to say.

Edward's eyebrows pulled together. "So why did you cut it?"

There was no answer he could give to that. Alfons looked away, though he knew Edward couldn't see.

"Alfons," Edward said gently, seriously. His tone made Alfons look up. "What's wrong?"

It only made Alfons feel worse. "Nothing." He wouldn't burden Edward with his troubles. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, and Edward would only end up hurt.

Edward _always_ seemed to end up hurt.

"That's bullshit."

"I'm fine." He was getting tired of repeating the words.

Edward's sightless eyes roved for a moment, trying in vain to pinpoint Alfons. He gave up, and slammed his automail fist into the mattress. "You know what's _worse_ than you telling me what's wrong? You and everybody else fucking _hinting_ about it all the time!"

"Maybe it's because you always react like this." Alfons crossed his arms stubbornly. "You think I'm going to give you something else to blame yourself for?"

"So letting me _imagine_ all sorts of things is better?" Edward shouted, waving his arms in frustration.

"You should be thinking about yourself, not worrying about me." The words were futile, he knew. His lover would always worry about him, first. All he could do was try and do the same, put Edward's needs before his own. He wasn't very good at it, though.

Edward lowered his arms slowly. "But I _do_ worry about you."

See?

Alfons decided to try a different tack. "Edward, even if something _was_ wrong – which I'm not saying it is – you can't really do much about it. If we focus on getting you out of here, it will solve everything."

Apparently Edward only listened to the first half of the sentence, because he wilted, the fight draining from him. Only his automail fist remained clenched, maybe unconsciously.

"I know I can't help," he said sadly.

Alfons' heart twisted, and he couldn't help but pull Edward to him. "Come on, Edward, don't start with this again..." he murmured into his neck. Edward stiffened, affronted.

"What do you mean 'again'?"

Crap. There was no way out of it, now. "Remember when we first got to America, and you were making a fuss about-"

"That was a _year_ ago!"

Alfons tried to find a way to phrase it delicately. "You really haven't changed all that much."

Going by Edward's huff, he hadn't managed.

Edward grabbed his shoulder, his automail grip painful. "You want to talk about America? We can fucking talk about America. At least there I could leave you half a gold mine!"

"Could you stop acting like your death is inevitable?" Alfons snapped.

The grip on his shoulder loosened, and Edward took several calming breaths. Alfons should have known better than to mention death.

"I don't think it's inevitable," Edward forced out. "But it could damn well happen."

"You're being pessimistic."

"I'm being _realistic_." Edward touched him again, his fingers impossibly light on Alfons' arm. His expression softened, and Alfons hated himself for always making trouble. "I don't even have any money to leave you. What little I had is going to pay for the trial." Edward ran his flesh fingers down Alfons' forearm, wrapped them around his wrist. "It wasn't supposed to be like this."

No, it wasn't. It should have been less complicated, less painful.

"Look at the bright side," Alfons said, going for a light tone. "Nobody thinks we're crazy, right?"

For a split second – almost too fast to catch – Edward looked stricken. Then the expression was gone, leaving Alfons to wonder. Edward thought for a moment, his face carefully blank. Alfons searched his mind, but could find nothing to say.

Seeming to come to a decision, Edward got up on his knees, and hugged Alfons hard. His arms wrapped around Alfons' neck, even the automail one, he pressed his cheek to Alfons', and one knee nudged at Alfons' hips. This sort of thing was rare from Edward, and Alfons knew it was all for him. Here was one thing Edward _could_ give him.

And in the face of that, Alfons' doubts were momentarily silenced. Edward wanted to make him happy. Their situation now was really no different than it had been before, and he of all people should know that Edward was anything but fickle. He would do his part by not allowing himself to lose faith.

Finally Edward pulled away.

"Shall we get some sleep?" Alfons asked, his voice a bit gruff. At Edward's nod they lay down, wrapped up in each other.

"You're such a sap," Edward murmured, his eyes already half shut.

Alfons brushed his hair away from his face. If it made Edward happy..... "Yeah," he replied.

* * *

The nice soldier – Maria, Alfons remembered, came to wake them up a few minutes before they had to leave, to give them time to prepare. Alfons was liking her more and more.

He used the time to brush Edward's hair again, fuss over him, and make a nuisance of himself until Edward told him to stop.

According to Alfons' borrowed watch, they still had two minutes left.

"Don't worry about me," Edward said. "Harris said I'll get to see Al tomorrow." A smile spread across his face, wide and honest.

Alfons debated with himself, then finally blurted, "You might want to be... gentle if you mention _us_ to him."

"Huh? Why?"

Edward was utterly clueless. This could end badly.

"Because it's probably a bit surprising for him, you know?" Alfons hedged.

Standing up and stretching, Edward looked profoundly unworried about things like brothers and doubles. "Al's going to be fine," he said. "We're brothers, aren't we?"

Alfons sighed. That was exactly the problem.

The next day turned out to not only be a visiting day for Al, but also the last real day of the trial. There were no more witnesses to be called, no more evidence to be presented. To Alfons, it all seemed unreal, but this was it – Roscoe and Harris were giving their closing statements, and the judges announced that they would reconvene again when it was time for the verdict. Nervousness that Alfons had managed to push aside returned full force, especially in light of Edward's words yesterday.

It had been going on for a month and a half, but were they really ready? Had they presented all the arguments, had Harris spoken convincingly enough? If only they could have one more day, just to make sure....

"Don't worry."

Alfons looked aside to see that Harris had paused beside him on his way out of the courtroom, to give him an encouraging, if perfunctory, pat on the back.

"The prosecution hardly has a case," he said. "Even with the politics surrounding this trial, the court will be forced to acquit. In any other situation, the prosecution would have been thrown out of court for lack of evidence."

He walked off before Alfons could answer. Still, Alfons was encouraged by the words, delivered in his father's calming voice. He swallowed, and rejoined the tide of people leaving the room.

He could hardly keep his mind on anything for the rest of the day, and ended up staying up late, staring at a book. As it turned out, he was around to see Al come in after his visit.

Al didn't say anything to him, didn't even look at him. Alfons watched him out of the corner of his eye, then decided to speak.

"How was it?" He had to pitch his voice loudly to carry across the room. At least nobody was around.

Al stiffened, and Alfons wasn't sure if he would answer.

"As nice as a prison visit _can_ be," Al finally said. He added, more quietly, "I wish I could break him out."

"The trial's almost over, and then he'll be free." Hey, it kept Alfons going, it might work for Al. He set his book aside, and leaned back in the chair.

"Yeah."

Alfons wondered what they would do, then. What Edward wanted to do. Al probably wouldn't be pleased with Edward hanging around to build airplanes with Alfons. And frankly, Alfons was no longer sure that would satisfy Edward.

It probably depended a lot on whether or not Edward got his sight and alchemy back.

Al wasn't saying anything, but he wasn't leaving either, and the question Alfons was dying to ask finally escaped. "Did Edward say anything about us-"

"Shut up!" Al shouted, whirling to look at him. His fists clenched at his sides, and his eyes were fierce. "You're _lying_, you bastard, and maybe everybody else believes you, but you can't fool me! It's _not_ _true_!"

Taken aback, Alfons stared at him in silence.

"I heard the guards – they're lying, I heard what they said you _do_ to Brother -"

Oh crap. Oh God.

"I don't care, because it's not true! Brother will be free, and this whole business will _end_!"

"You didn't say this to Edward..." Alfons trailed off, aghast.

Al gave him a scornful look. "I'm not _daft_." And left.

* * *

The next day, a tabloid featured an extremely graphic "interview" with Alfons about his and Edward's relationship.

Well, that explained the looks he had been getting all morning. Alfons stormed away, wishing he hadn't left his room that morning. Or his bed. He holed up in one of the unused briefing rooms and ate the junk there for lunch, not that he was particularly hungry.

He hated this. He really, really hated this. This was something he would _never_ be able to shake off. Hell, even if he _did_ reinvent the airplane, here, the newspapers would probably all be writing about how Fullmetal's Boyfriend Actually Has A Brain, Who Knew? He might as well get his name changed and be done with it.

The door creaked open, and Alfons was on his feet before he knew it. "It's not true!" he shouted at a surprised Winry. "I didn't say any of that!"

She closed the door carefully behind her. "I didn't think you had," she said. "There wasn't enough stammering, for one."

The attempt at teasing fell flat.

Alfons didn't really look at her as she navigated her way across the room to pull up a chair near him.

"I don't think _anybody_ thinks that's a real interview," she said, her tone firm.

"Half the city probably thinks it." Alfons' stomach rolled over at the thought. He slumped in his chair, and sort of wished she would go.

Winifred had been his friend, but Winry didn't really seem to be. The risk of slipping up and forgetting was too great.

"You aren't taking this very well," she observed quietly, the weight of her gaze heavy.

Alfons' eyes snapped up to meet hers. "In America, if anybody had found out about me and Edward we would have been put in _jail_," he said. "How do you _expect_ me to take it?"

She was silent, then, and the expression on her face was something like pity, which Alfons didn't like either.

"I didn't even know Edward was wanted!" Alfons continued, though he wasn't sure why. "I don't think even Edward knew he was. I didn't know there was almost a war happening here. And I didn't think nobody would want to talk to me." He cut himself off before he could continue with the self-pitying trend, but the damage had already been done.

Now she was looking at him with _unmistakable_ pity. Great.

"I think that nobody really knows what to do with you," Winry said. "It's clear that Ed cares about you a lot, but we don't _see_ that, you know? If Ed were around, he'd poke and prod everybody until they treated you the way he wants them to."

The mental image raised by her words made a smile twitch at his mouth. Edward would probably have gone far beyond poking and prodding, more into shouting and throwing things territory.

"The truth is, I'm kind of lonely here, myself. I haven't been able to see most of my friends in Central, and of course Rose and Grandma are back in Resembool. So, let's talk."

Alfons narrowed his eyes, suspicious of her sudden friendliness.

"I thought you also liked Edward," he said, and then thought about how stupid it was to bring that up, especially when she was trying to be nice.

Winry sighed and shifted in her chair, but didn't leave. "I _did_ like him," she admitted. "But I haven't seen him for four years, and for a while I thought he was dead. I moved on with my life. Is it fair to hold a grudge because he did, too?"

Her words were gracious, but Alfons could see that she didn't believe them completely. The hurt was still there, no matter the rationalization, but he appreciated her effort.

"Ed deserves somebody who never gave up on him." The admission cost her.

"I, er," Alfons said awkwardly. Winry shook herself, and noticing Alfons' discomfort, let out a slightly forced laugh and changed the subject.

"So why not tell me about yourself?" she said, a bit more brightly than was convincing. "We've got plenty of time."

"Where should I start?" He wasn't used to giving out his life's story.

"That country you come from, what did you say it was called? Jer-something?"

"Germany. But we called it _Deustchland_." He _really_ didn't know what to say. His life was so boring compared to what everybody here had been through.

"Oh, that's in that language you speak with Ed?"

"Yes. But Edward also speaks Russian – but he learned that from the Gate." He remembered Edward's recent slips, and concern momentarily dampened his mood. At her confused look, he added, "He didn't _learn_ it, whenever he got drunk he would speak it. It was part of the knowledge the Gate dropped in his head."

"I guess I never heard it because the automail always kept him from getting drunk," she mused. "So what was Germany like?"

Alfons paused to organize his thoughts. It was strange to be thinking about Germany consciously; normally he did his best to relegate it to the back of his mind. He began to speak, and she listened, occasionally asking questions. He didn't know whether she was really as interested as she looked, but he appreciated the effort.

* * *

A week passed, like that. A week where Al still pretended nothing was going on, where Alfons visited Edward as often as possible, and watched him grow increasingly nervous and pretend he was fine.

Completely fine. Totally fine, Alfons. He was _not fucking worried_, okay, did Alfons know how much longer until the verdict? Was he sure? ...How about now?

On the bright side, Winry seemed to have warmed to him significantly. She had even started telling him about automail construction, and was excited to learn just how technically inclined Alfons was.

Mustang, however, was growing increasingly harried. The streets of Central were still full of protesters, as were the rest of the major cities of Amestris. There were no riots, not yet, but he was beginning to worry about what would happen if the verdict should be unfavorable. Troops were moving, both in Central and elsewhere, politicians were lobbying frantically. When the week was up, Mustang irritably asked Harris how much longer it would take; people were clamoring for resolution.

The second week, the newspapers joined in. Some speculated that the court was going to hold out on purpose, keeping everybody occupied, thus allowing Drachma to attack unhindered. Angry letters poured in from civilians, saying how it was obvious Fullmetal was innocent, why was this farce still continuing? Mustang didn't have to forward them to the courthouse; they were receiving their fair share.

Harris explained, repeatedly, that two weeks was _not a very long time to wait for a verdict_ on a trial this important. That didn't keep him from going to the courthouse practically every day. He stopped short of actually telling the judges to hurry up, because that would have been very inadvisable.

Amestris was a powder keg waiting to explode, and finally the judges noticed. The verdict would be announced on Wednesday.

On Monday, Edward was so nervous he couldn't sleep, even though Alfons tried every trick he knew (which wasn't that many. He was much better at keeping Edward awake). Alfons himself wasn't in much better shape. Afterwards, he had few recollections of what they had talked about, though he knew they must have talked a lot, given the state of his throat. All he remembered was quoting _Die Lorelei_ for Edward, and the subsequent discussion of how drowning was a pretty nasty way to die. It was all very morbid, and might have completely ruined the poem for him.

Almost before he knew it, it was the night before. The worry was palpable, though for a change it didn't express itself in irritability. Everybody was uncharacteristically quiet, and even Al forgot to snipe at Alfons.

Surprisingly, Alfons did manage to sleep that night, and wished he hadn't. His dreams were unpleasant.

* * *

The mob outside the court building was larger than usual. They sat in quiet groups today, though their slogan-bearing banners were as ubiquitous as ever. Knots formed around the loudspeakers, already anticipating the beginning. Alfons wondered how many people in the country – the world – were waiting similarly, glued to a radio transmitter.

This was the last day. Alfons straightened up, looked ahead, and squared his shoulders.

It _would_ be a good one.

* * *

Still, there was protocol to get through. Alfons could hardly pretend to listen, and focusing on deciphering the complicated English was rather beyond him at the moment. He contented himself with watching Edward. It wasn't his imagination – he _was_ looking better. His posture was stronger, and he was actually making an effort at holding his head up, instead of allowing it to droop forward like he normally did. His hair was done up more carefully than usual, Alfons was almost certain of it.

Alfons wished they would get _on_ with it.

Winry suddenly squeezed his arm, hard, and Alfons jerked his attention back to the proceedings, terrified he had missed something.

Justice Tsamis was speaking. "-by virtue of lack of evidence linking Mr. Elric, the Fullmetal Alchemist, to the destruction of Lior, and the many arguments presented by the defense-"

Alfons' heart was pounding so he could hardly think. If his lungs betrayed him now, he would never forgive them. He tried to regulate his breathing.

"-This court hereby finds Mr. Elric not guilty-"

Alfons didn't hear any more. He couldn't, because he was on his feet and people around him were cheering – a roar could be heard from outside – and Winry was practically jumping up and down, tears in her eyes, and Al looked like he might hug Mustang, who was grinning widely. And Edward – he was smiling, just a little, because he surely couldn't believe his good fortune, but it was enough. They would have all the time in the world for Edward to internalize that he was _free_.

Justice Tsamis broke off and motioned for silence, which was mostly ignored. When the bailiffs started throwing people out of the room, though, everyone quieted down.

The judge was now giving all sorts of details which Alfons really couldn't follow, about Paragraph This and Subsection That and the Law of Whatever, but Alfons didn't care. He was too happy.

Out of the corner of his eye, though, he caught the slightly tense look on Harris' face, and that was enough to cut through the haze in his mind. If he hadn't known his father so well he probably wouldn't have noticed it, but the expression was the same, and that meant something wasn't right.

There was silence, then, and Alfons could see worry starting to creep onto the faces around him. Justice Tsamis exchanged a look with the other judges, then spoke again.

"Though this is highly irregular, the court regrets that Mr. Elric will have to be kept in custody."

Murmurs broke out, and Alfons felt cold sweat on his forehead. This was it.

"The prosecution has presented the court with new evidence, of a crime so terrible we cannot overlook it. Regrettably, this evidence is far more compelling than what was presented in the attempt to link Mr. Elric to the destruction of Lior."

Not again. He couldn't tear his eyes from the judge's face, but could easily imagine the look of horror that must be growing on Edward's.

"According to findings presented to this court, Mr. Elric is hereby accused of having performed Human Transmutation in February of the year 1910. Counsel, we will see you in chambers."


	40. Guilty Secrets

...okay look at it this way. I updated, right? And it's over 14k, so it's not some short pathetic little update. Thanks as always to my lovely betas, Cryogenia and Yixsh. This chapter is not quite 100% betaed, so there might be changes made when Naatz gets back to me. I just couldn't have it sitting on my hard drive any longer, it was driving me bonkers.

I hope you enjoy!

* * *

"I'm going to break him out," Al said, challenging the room. Mustang sighed, but other than that, nobody bothered answering. Al continued. "I'm going to! He's miserable in there, and now they're going to put him on trial _again_–"

"If you break him out," Mustang said, "all of us will have to run."

"I shouldn't be listening to this," Harris commented.

"Why would _you_ have to run? I'm not asking for help!"

"I'd help," Alfons felt the need to say. Winry nodded as well.

"Nobody would ever believe that we were uninvolved," Mustang answered. "And where would you go? Xing? If Ed runs, it'll be clear to everybody that he's guilty. None of the surrounding countries would want to let him in."

"Then we'll-"

"And," Mustang overrode him, raising his voice, "Amestris would probably collapse into chaos. The ANP would take any excuse to start a war and bring the entire country back under martial law – and if I am implicated in this, they could do exactly that. Are you willing to risk it?"

Alfons could have told Mustang that was a stupid question. If Al had to choose between the future of Amestris and Ed's life, he would choose Ed. And Alfons would back him all the way. Ed didn't deserve to die for politics.

"I'm not letting Brother get killed!" Al shouted, jumping up from his chair and starting to pace. Alfons really hoped that nobody outside could hear them.

"He doesn't have to," Harris said, shifting position on his end of the sofa. He looked nearly as tense as everybody else.

Momentary silence followed his words.

"He _did it,_" Al said, enunciating clearly.

Harris scratched at his mustache, and wouldn't meet anybody's eyes. "Legally speaking, that doesn't really mean anything."

The thought of lying hadn't really occurred to Alfons, but it was enough to excite him.

Tapping his foot a bit, Harris looked around at all of them. "Aside from present company, who else knows – or knew – that Ed was responsible for attempting Human Transmutation?"

There was another silence, as everybody thought.

"Most of my immediate subordinates," Mustang began. "Riza, Havoc, Fuery, Falman, Breda. I would have to ask to find out who heard it from him directly. Gracia Hughes. Major Armstrong."

"Grandma and Rose," Winry said. "And Sheska. Scar must have known, too."

"Your teacher?" Alfons suggested.

"Yes, but she died." Al's voice took on a stiff note. "Sig also knew, though. And Mason."

Alfons mumbled condolences, and wondered if Edward knew.

"Barry the Chopper," said Mustang. "Kimblee. Fuhrer King Bradley. All three are dead."

"The _fuhrer_ knew?" Harris murmured, shaking his head.

"All the homunculi knew," said Al. "And Dante as well."

Alfons thought back to the stories Edward had told him, tried to dredge up memories. "There was an alchemist named Majhal in some small town," he offered. "He transmuted souls into dolls..." he trailed off at the blank stares. "He's dead, though," Alfons added, self-consciously.

"Doctor Marcoh," said Al, and looked at Mustang inquiringly.

"As far as I know, he's dead."

"Tucker," said Alfons, desperate to be useful. "The guy who transmuted his daughter-"

Mustang nodded. "Dead as well."

Winry jumped to her feet. "Oh for goodness' sake, half the country knows! And _everybody _knows that Al was in an empty suit of armor, it even said so in the film!"

The hopelessness of the situation was dawning on Alfons. From Edward's stories, it had always sounded like the whole Human Transmutation business had been something of a secret. But if everybody knew, what hope did they have?

"We're back to breaking him out," Al announced, crossed his arms, and dared anybody to contradict him.

"Not precisely." Harris had a look of deep thoughtfulness on his face. "Even if a lot of people _know_ that -Ed was responsible," he stumbled over the name a bit, apparently not sure whether he should use the nickname or not.

Alfons wondered when _he_ would start. He just couldn't imagine calling Edward anything else.

"-The only testimony relevant is from people who heard it straight from him, and moreso – it would have to be a clear statement that he had done the alchemy. If he said it was his fault Al was in the armor, that's not enough. We could say he was simply blaming himself, it's not an admission of guilt." Harris suddenly smiled, tight and grim. "And the only eyewitness besides Ed," he nodded at Al, "cannot testify to remembering his brother actually doing the alchemy."

Alfons had never expected Al's amnesia to turn out useful, and from the look on Al's face, neither had he.

"Now," Harris continued, but Winry cut him off.

"Wait." She clasped her hands in her lap, her hair falling forward with the tilt of her head. Then she looked up. "How are we going to pay for this?" When nobody offered an answer, she started thinking aloud. "I've been pitching in with my savings – and we've used up most of Ed's money over the years, and Colonel Mustang has been a great help... but how much longer can we keep going? How long will this trial take?"

"No less than three months, probably," Harris said. "And even that's pretty fast."

"But the first trial was only a month and a half!" Alfons protested. "Why should this one be longer?" Another three months of visiting Edward in prison... three months of living on base, of trying to keep Edward together...

Three more months alone.

"For several reasons. Because of the politics involved, everybody was pushing for a quick resolution. The prosecution had an extremely flimsy case, and neither side spent nearly as much time preparing as would normally be done for a trial of this scale. Furthermore, because Ed was held under such terrible conditions and mistreated regularly, it encouraged the judges to move things along as fast as possible. I'm afraid this won't be the case, now."

"What, because he wasn't responsible for Lior, suddenly nobody cares about him?" Al demanded.

"That's not true, and you know it," Mustang said calmly. He looked around the room, meeting everybody's eyes with his one good one. "People are tired. They're in the same situation we are. They need to return to their homes, their jobs, and their families. There's only so long you can keep masses of people at fever pitch. Right now, the only options are to escalate, or just back down." He sighed heavily, and looked at Harris. "I'm afraid Winry is right. It will be difficult for us to afford your fees, but if you'll be willing to accept delayed payment-"

"No," Harris said, and Alfons' heart sank. Betrayed expressions flickered across Al and Winry's faces.

"Forget the fee," Harris continued. At that point, Alfons could hardly believe his ears. "Cover some of my expenses, and we'll call it even. Nobody else has a hope of a chance to get him off."

He looked momentarily embarrassed at the looks he was getting from Al and Winry, and Alfons knew a similar expression must be on his own face. The relief was so strong it was almost palpable.

He was so happy for Edward, so proud of him, to have such good people rallying to him. And he didn't know what he would have done if his alter-father had turned out to be an asshole.

Harris cleared his throat. "Well. Concerning Ed's defense. Our strategy will obviously have to be quite different from the previous trial."

Alfons leaned forward to listen, and noticed that everybody else had sat back down, and looked just as intent. For the first time since he had heard the news, he felt a glimmer of optimism.

"As I said earlier, for eyewitness accounts, all we have to do is keep Ed off the witness stand. Nobody else can give conclusive evidence as to what happened."

"But he didn't testify in the other trial, either..." Winry trailed off.

Harris shook his head. "It's a different situation. Then, his testimony would have been useful, but he was in no shape to be cross-examined. It was better to keep him away."

Alfons thought of Edward, bruised and battered and sad, and found himself nodding.

"We were _kids_!" Al said, choked. "Shouldn't that matter? How can he be executed for something he did almost ten years ago? He was eleven years old!"

This, Alfons knew the answer to, having come across it during his research. "It doesn't matter, when it comes to Human Transmutation," he said. "According to the law, if Edward was capable of activating the array, he can be held responsible, and executed for it. More than that, they will find the fact that he managed to do it when so young _more_ horrible, because many older alchemists are incapable of Human Transmutation. I think," he added, for good measure, but Harris was nodding in approval. Alfons felt a rush of satisfaction.

It immediately faded into queasiness, as he thought of what that meant for Edward.

"If he is found guilty, we might be able to ask for leniency on the grounds that he is no longer capable of doing alchemy," Harris mused. "But of course, since we are hoping that his ability will return, it's not a strategy we can rely on. A better strategy would be to simply try and prove that there is no concrete evidence that Ed was the one who transmuted Al."

"What?" Winry looked confused. "Who else could it have been?"

"Ah! _That_ is not a question we have to answer. We simply need to try and present the idea that it _could_ have been somebody else. Perhaps Ed's claims that he was responsible are because he attempted to protect Al, failed, and now feels guilty about it."

Alfons couldn't help but be a bit skeptical. "Isn't that a bit of a stretch?"

"It is," Harris admitted. "It's a risky plan, and one that will demand a whole lot of creative twisting of the truth from all of you. Frankly, I can't see any other option. I've glanced at the prosecution's evidence, and they seem to have a fairly solid case. I have a suspicion they've been working on gathering evidence throughout the Lior trial. They intend to take Ed down at all costs. And with Human Transmutation, guilt is an automatic death sentence. Nobody has ever won an appeal."

"The old military got away with it all the time," Al muttered sullenly.

"Not to our credit," Mustang replied. "If anything, people will argue that properly executing this sort of criminal will show the world that Amestris has changed, and no longer suffers those atrocities." He slammed a fist onto the arm of his chair, shaking. "Damn them. If anybody deserves to be pardoned for his sins, it's Ed."

"Look, even if the outlook is bleak, there are still some things we can do," Harris said, looking a bit more cheerful. "After the fiasco of the Lior trial, I'm hoping to get Ed transferred to house arrest. He's proven not to be a flight risk, especially since he can't do alchemy. Or see. Since he was mistreated so badly, and was proven innocent, I hope the court will allow this. House arrest means that he will be allowed daily visiting hours, both morning and evening. He'll be kept under constant guard, but at least he will no longer be in prison."

Harris kept talking, and yeah, it sort of cheered Alfons up. But it wasn't enough. Until now, he hadn't really believed that it could end badly – because Edward was innocent. But getting him off even though everybody _knew_ he was guilty was sounding more and more like wishful thinking.

And if _he_ was finding this difficult to cope with, what would Edward do?

* * *

"No," Ed said. His hands were clasped in his lap, unchained. The automail emitted whirring noises every time he twitched. There were no new visible bruises, and his hair looked healthier; Alfons was evidently making a difference. Especially in his posture, which was unbent, even in the face of the news.

"I won't let them do it. Not for my sake."

He was also, still, a blithering idiot.

Harris sighed. "I already explained to you that this is the only option. Our priority right now is getting you acquitted."

Ed swallowed, then raised his head. "You expect me to go up in front of all of Amestris and claim that what happened to Al wasn't my fault?" His voice cracked. "As if I didn't ruin his life-"

"This isn't _about_ what you did!" Harris cut him off. "We know what you did. He knows what you did – and by the way, says it wasn't just you. Nothing you say in court will change that. But are you actually willing to risk death because of the accusations these nincompoops are leveling at you?"

Ed froze, and that was all the answer Harris needed.

Of course he thought he deserved to die. Harris leaned back in his chair, slowly, feeling helpless. None of his clients wanted to die. None of them thought they deserved it, not even the ones who were blatantly guilty of crimes that turned his stomach. And then comes this stupid, noble _kid_.

"What do you want to _do_?" he demanded. "Go up and confess?"

"I should tell the truth," Ed said in a small voice. "And they'll decide what I deserve. Isn't that what justice is about?"

Harris slammed both hands onto the table. "This isn't about justice!" He didn't get it. He just couldn't wrap his mind around the insanity that was Edward Elric. "This is a disgusting, political trial, run by people who want you dead in order to further their own goals! If they could get you incarcerated for jaywalking they would!" He took a breath, tried to find a way to explain it.

"There _is_ no justice, here," he said. "There is a legal system. It's not the same thing. This system can be manipulated, and it's our job to make sure that the conclusion the judges reach is the right one."

Ed ran his fingers through his bangs, then looked back in Harris' direction, eyes wild. "And if we win? If I'm declared innocent, it's because I'm pretending – in front of the whole _world_ – that I wasn't the one that hurt Al! How can that be right?" He buried his face in his hands. "How will I ever be able to look him- talk to him again?"

No wonder heroes died young, Harris thought.

"Do you think he'll be happy to watch you die?" he asked. "Do you think any of us will?" The 'us' slipped out, but he found himself believing it. He thought of Al, who was so earnest, and lost, and wanted his brother back. Thought of Winry, who worked to give him a leg to stand on, and never complained. Of Mustang, who fought grimly every day for another supporter, another way to help Ed. Alfons, with his gentle, worried eyes, who was pining for Ed and didn't realize how obvious he was about it.

And he, heaven help him, found himself liking this idealistic idiot.

"I don't want to die," Ed said, on edge. "But I just... I _can't_. It's _wrong_. And maybe..." He was silent then, for a long time. Harris watched him, let him reach his own conclusions, and tried to track the emotions flitting across his face. None of them were happy.

Even so, he was surprised at Ed's words.

"Maybe it's better like this," Ed said, and couldn't keep his voice steady.

"It's not." Harris' tone left no room for argument, and he wasn't sure why Ed's face fell. Alfons was right; something was very wrong. But if neither Ed's brother nor his boyfriend could suss it out, Harris didn't think he had much of a chance.

"I can't do it," Ed whispered.

"I'm not a miracle worker," Harris said, trying to keep exasperation from his voice. "If you won't cooperate, it will make saving your life quite a bit more difficult."

No response was forthcoming.

"I need your agreement to pursue this course of action," Harris said.

"No. I won't let them be put in danger because of me." Ed was shaking, his eyes squinched shut. "I won't let them risk everything. My life isn't worth theirs."

Harris quickly revised his priorities. Getting Ed transferred to house arrest, and getting both Al and Alfons several hours with him was at the top of the list. He would try and talk to Ed again after that.

And in the meantime, even if it wasn't proper procedure, he would begin gathering evidence. The trial wouldn't wait for Ed to discover his sense of self-preservation. There was no time for this.

* * *

Al rushed his way through the train station, torn between annoyance, worry, and satisfaction over being helpful. Harris wanted information on everything Ed had done, places he'd been, people he'd talked to. All of a sudden, the years Al had spent painstakingly piecing together their life would pay off; he had a sizeable amount of written documentation dealing with exactly that, and a lot of it was probably material the prosecutor hadn't a hope to get his hands on.

If only it wasn't all in fucking _Resembool_.

Al had balked at going, at first. It didn't make sense to spend the better part of two days, maybe more, on the train just for this – couldn't somebody else pick up the stuff? Was he really supposed to leave Ed alone for so long (with Alfons)?

But hey, he was _learning_. Nobody had to tell him that if the material fell into the wrong hands it would be a disaster. Whoever went had to be a capable alchemist – enough to fight off opposition, if there was, and enough to break through whatever barriers the weather might erect. Al was the ideal choice.

So Al didn't even bother to pack a suitcase, and went. Of course, he stopped by to tell Ed that he was - - picking up some stuff for Harris. He managed to stop himself from admitting what he could never say, that there was a huge blank in his life where his and Ed's journey should have been.

Ed hadn't looked happy, and had told Al to be careful, and said a bunch of stuff about how he didn't like the risks they were taking. Al had asked him if he really expected them to risk losing him again, after he had only just returned. Ed had shut up at that, and looked miserable. Even though Al knew it had been necessary, he still felt like a tool.

Worse, he _knew_ Alfons would be visiting, if not today then tomorrow, and he would cheer Ed up. That thought was enough to set Al's stomach churning, so he forced himself back to the present, and busied his mind with anything he could, as he waited for the train to get going.

Oh god, he had like ten hours of this ahead of him. He pulled out the one book he had brought – Ed's tiny diary from the old days, small enough to fit into a pocket, the bulge of it hidden by the drape of his coat.

Breaking the code had been damnably difficult. Decoding the journal, even once he had figured out the key, was still a difficult task. He wished he remembered watching Ed write in it, wondered how long it had taken to code.

Three hours in, and he was already going stir-crazy. He leaned his head on the window, closed his eyes, and tried to remember. Again. Anything, even the slightest flicker.

There wasn't even a blank in his memory. There was just _nothing_. One moment he was activating the array with Ed, the next he woke up in an unfamiliar ballroom, Ed was gone, and everybody was six years older.

His eyes opened a bit to watch the dull, snow-covered countryside rush by. _Everything_ had changed in those lost years. So many people knew who he was, and he didn't know any of them. Ed had become a national hero, the government had fallen, cities had been wiped off the map. Winry had grown breasts.

None of it made sense.

And he couldn't help but realize, slowly, that he had lost Ed, too.

Ten years. Ten fucking years since he last remembered his brother, and why had he ever thought they could go back to how they were? He didn't _remember_ how they were.

Now Ed was seven years older than him, and he was an adult. He had grown up, Al had been left behind, and Ed had found himself a-

Damn it, that was just what they were saying. Al was only just starting to feel interested in girls, there was _no way_ Ed was...

But wasn't that what happened? People grew up, and paired up, and nothing was ever the same again.

And Alfons really looked like him. And – and – it didn't fucking _mean anything_, because this was just some stunt to get Ed more visiting hours or something, that was all. It couldn't be anything more, because Al had gambled so much on getting Ed back – friendships, childhood, sacrificed Wrath's _life _for this, how could Ed not want him any more?

After much trying Al managed to fall asleep, and resolutely woke himself up every time he started dreaming something. He didn't want to know what his subconscious would conjure up.

He got off at Resembool, inconspicuous, since he wasn't wearing Ed's coat. After the mess that was Central, Resembool seemed unnaturally quiet. There were no crowds in the streets, no picketers, no soldiers -

In a shop window, prominently hung, was a sign proclaiming "Free the Fullmetal Alchemist" in bold red letters. Al felt warmer, and sped up.

He tried to avoid people as much as possible, not wanting to advertise his presence. That meant he had to slog his own way from town to the Rockbells', but he didn't mind. It was mindless enough to take his mind off his problems, allowing him to clear his head and just focus on the next snow-ridden step.

The house on the hill was dimly lit with warm lights, and Al was surprised at the feeling that rushed through him. _This is home_, he felt, deep in his gut.

Nobody was expecting him. He dithered in front of the door, wondering whether he should just walk in, but in the end decided to knock. He didn't want to startle anybody. The door was opened almost immediately by Rose, who looked surprised – and happy – to see him.

"Al!" She stepped aside to let him through. "Come in, you must be frozen, why didn't you call ahead? I'll warm some soup for you-"

Granny was up as well, and for once, Al was content to let them fuss over him. And after he had finished eating, when they wanted information, he patiently answered all their questions.

He hadn't planned on staying the night, he had thought to grab the notebooks and be on the next train out, but when they coaxed him to stay, he didn't resist. It was nice, here, quiet, and felt like home. He crept into a bed that was familiar despite the fact that he wasn't there often, feeling vaguely guilty. It wasn't right that he felt safe and happy away from Ed. It wasn't right that while everybody else was working so hard, and Ed wasn't sleeping, and he himself had things he needed to do, he was lying here, and felt good about it.

It was such a relief to be away from Alfons.

Enough. He had decided to sleep, and he _would_. Ed wouldn't begrudge him a night of peace. He only wished Ed could have the same.

* * *

He left early the next morning, now carrying a suitcase packed with all the information he had gathered about his brother in four years. Somewhere within might lie the information that would save Ed's life. Nobody else was awake yet, so he left them an awkward thank-you note, and quietly shut the door behind him.

As the train ate up the kilometers to Central, Al felt nervousness start to gnaw at him again. He, Winry, and Alfons would be staying with Gracia, and Al hoped it wouldn't suck too much. Mustang had also promised to find him a job in an alchemy lab somewhere, because none of them could afford to deplete their resources any further.

Several times along the way the train was stopped by military blockades. Soldiers came up to inspect the train, walking up and down the cars and giving everybody within the evil eye. Al tried not to attract attention, not meeting people's eyes too much, and let his hair down in the hopes they might mistake him for a girl.

Only one soldier recognized him. He appeared to be affiliated with the UAA (not allies of the ANP, not fully backing parliament either), but paused next to Al, muttered a quick "luck to Fullmetal" under his breath, before hurrying off. Al clutched his suitcase closer, and resisted the urge to smile.

They arrived in Central late, and Al figured nobody was expecting him on this train, so he took a cab to Gracia's. He would have walked, to spare the expense, but it was too far.

On the other hand, when the cab driver saw who he was, he told Al to keep his money, it was an honor to help.

Lights were still on at the Hughes', but Al knocked quietly, not wanting to wake anybody up. After a few minutes, Winry opened the door and gave him a tired smile.

"Gracia's asleep," she said, "and so is Elysia."

"Where should I leave the stuff?"

"Take it up to your room, better not leave it sitting around. Are you hungry?"

"I just want to get some sleep. How come you're still up? Did you find a job?"

They spoke softly, Winry following him up the stairs.

"Yeah. I was up with Alfons, he had an attack."

Al looked at her sharply, worried. "An attack?" He remembered something about Alfons being sickly-

Winry looked surprised at his response, and Al reminded himself that he wasn't supposed to care. He really was tired.

"He was coughing, but he should be better now. I haven't heard any noise from his room." She paused, then said carefully, "I'm sharing a room with Elysia, which puts you with Alfons."

It figured. Al sighed. He was so sick of fighting with everybody.

"Yeah, whatever. 'Night, Winry." He pushed open the door to his designated room, and didn't wait for a response.

A small light was still on in the room, and Alfons was awake, reading. He glanced up idly, then did a double-take when he saw who it was.

Al headed to his bed – the one Alfons wasn't on – and tried to look anywhere but at him. Alfons was undressed for bed, and Al didn't like the vulnerability of him. He looked paler than usual, which fit in with what Winry had said about an attack. Al quashed an instinctive worry, because if something happened to Alfons, Ed would be unhappy.

"Um, hi," Alfons said. Al didn't trust himself to speak, yet. He didn't want to encourage Alfons, but he was just too tired tonight to snipe at him. He dropped the suitcase on the floor by his bed and flopped onto it, only bothering to kick off his shoes.

"Never mind," muttered Alfons, sounding resigned. Al swallowed and glanced in his direction. He looked kind of disappointed, which just wasn't _fair. _Wasn't it enough that Alfons had taken Ed from him? Why did he have to be nice, too?

Because Ed would want him to, and the memory of how much Ed cared about Alfons was still a vivid imprint on his mind. "Sorry," he said, a bit stiffly. "I'm just tired."

Alfons smiled a bit before he closed his book and started to mess around with getting under the covers, and Al wondered if they had met under other circumstances, he would like him.

Alfons was _still_ putzing around doing who-knew-what. Al pulled the covers up over his face to block the light out, but it wasn't very comfortable. He peeked over.

Alfons was scribbling in some notebook.

Now he was turning pages in a large library book.

Al closed his eyes.

Alfons put the books on the small stand by his bed, with a thump that was far louder than it needed to be. He turned off the light.

_Finally_.

Now Alfons was shifting in bed, making the springs creak. Al stared up at the dark ceiling, and tried to resist the urge to throttle him.

Alfons coughed, and drank some water. Then he shifted around some more. Al buried his head under his pillow.

There was a soft thud; Alfons had apparently knocked something onto the floor.

"Can we get some bloody _quiet_?" Al hissed.

* * *

They were still in the process of settling Ed in his new prison, fortifying the building and setting guard schedules and whatever, so Al had to go to work. Ibis Laboratories was located in the industrial section of Central, and just far enough that Al couldn't really walk there.

And he had to be there at 8 o'clock. He _hated_ having his schedule dictated.

Upon arrival, he could tell that though his new boss knew who he was, he wasn't expecting too much out of Al. Once he got over the initial offense at _anybody _thinking his skills were average, he decided that maybe this was better. All he wanted was money, he didn't care about recognition or advancements, not for _this_ sort of work. Developing simple, focused arrays for two-bit alchemists had to be among the most boring things ever conceived by mankind.

He wondered what Alfons was doing. Probably something even worse, like waiting tables, or cleaning. The thought cheered Al up, just a little.

By the time his workday ended at 5:00, Al was very much ready to get out of there. Was there any chance of getting paid by array instead of by the hour? With motivation, he could probably do the same amount of work in a quarter of the time. But if Mr. Coram the Asshole found out Al was that talented, there was no way he would agree. They would probably send more work his way, and then he might have to actually expend effort on this stupidity.

On the streetcar back to Gracia's he tried not to contemplate the fact that this had been one day out of what looked to be months. When this was over, he would seriously have to consider signing on with the military or something; at least it wouldn't be so mind-numbingly _dull_.

The house looked welcoming, lit windows shining into the evening's darkness. He was briefly cheered by the prospect of dinner, until he thought of the fact that Alfons would probably be inside, and he might try being Al's _friend_ again or something.

He was pleasantly surprised to find that neither Alfons nor Winry had returned yet, though the fact that both were out at the same time set up warning lights in his mind. Elysia was ecstatic to see him, and quite a bit bigger than when he had last seen her, about two years ago. Gracia had tried to explain Al's memory loss to her, but she had seemed hurt by the thought that he didn't remember her. Al just pretended he knew her, and left it at that.

At her invitation, he followed her to her room, and made appropriate impressed noises at her drawings – though he didn't have to pretend, she was getting quite good.

The room was far more girly than any Al had seen – pink flowers dotted the wallpaper, the entire room painted in soft, comforting shades of white and cream. He couldn't help but notice the musty, dull-brown books pushed to the corner of her desk, which looked to him like alchemy texts. He thought of asking her about them, but when he opened his mouth she tried to distract him, so he left it alone.

Gracia called Al down to help with dinner, then, which made the whole getting-home-earlier thing a bit less attractive, now that he thought about it. She set him to chopping vegetables, and thankfully didn't ask him much. He wouldn't have known what to say, anyway. The Hughes' were just more unfamiliar people that knew things about him that he himself didn't know.

Winry and Alfons came in together soon after, both of them looking just a bit too happy for Al's peace of mind. Maybe they were working close by, he thought as they all sat down to eat, or maybe Winry had set a place to meet Alfons after work, the guy probably would get lost without help. Or maybe-

"So, Al!" Winry said cheerfully. "I guess you get to work set hours, no surprise surgeries to keep you. How is it?"

What was Al supposed to say? It was the most mind numbing work on the planet?

"It's okay," he said. "I'm probably the best alchemist in the place, so it's not really much of a challenge for me. At least they're paying well." Uncomfortable with the looks he was getting, Al tossed the conversational ball away. "What about you guys?"

Alfons looked at Winry expectantly. She nudged him on the arm, gave him an encouraging smile.

"Oh come on," Alfons said, rolling his eyes.

"You're the new face, I don't have anything interesting to tell," Winry retorted. "First day of work in a new world, what's it like?"

Alfons sighed and looked embarrassed at the attention. "It's very different from the engineering I've learned, but I hope I'll be decent, with time," he said.

To Al, it sounded unpleasantly suspicious.

"He's being far too modest," Winry said, and poked him again. "You have an excellent grasp of the basics, I'm sure you'll improve quickly."

Suspicion confirmed. Al looked between the two of them, and blurted, "Alfons is helping out at an auotmail shop?"

Alfons was building automail, while Al was stuck drawing moronic arrays? It wasn't _fair_.

"I'm trying," Alfons said, "but I don't really know anything about automail. They only agreed to take me because Winry said if they wanted her, they had to give me a job, too."

Al looked down at his plate. Of course it didn't make sense for Al to learn something else, or run around searching for something _interesting_ when a perfectly good paying job was right there for the taking. But even Winry was on Alfons' side, now, and it felt rather like betrayal.

"It's just a matter of time until you get useful-"

Alfons cut her off. "The only real advances I'm liable to make in automail construction are if you want me to make it fly."

Winry's eyes glittered. "I like that."

Al tuned them out.

In bed that night, Al thought about how… friendly Alfons and Winry had seemed at dinner, and wondered. Maybe Alfons could turn his attention to Winry and just leave Ed alone. That would solve all the problems neatly, wouldn't it?

Al rolled over, disquieted, at the thought of Ed being _left_. Not… not that it really _counted_, because this was just a ruse. Nothing but a ruse.

And once Ed was transferred to house arrest, there would be no more private visiting hours for Alfons. Al would make sure that they weren't alone, that Ed saw he no longer needed Alfons.

_Al_ was his brother. For six years he had been enough for Ed. Why did that have to change now?

* * *

They fell into a rhythm, of sorts, over the next two days. Al went to work, drew his arrays, returned to Gracia's and tried to avoid Alfons as much as possible. Being a grownup must suck, he thought. No wonder they kept mucking around with the government; they must be going insane for want of excitement in their lives.

The third evening, Mustang showed up at Gracia's, excitement chafing behind his mask of restraint.

"He's settled," Mustang announced. "Visiting hours are every evening from 7:00 to 10:00 pm.

Same in the morning, on days when the trial isn't in session. Limited to up to ten people at once, from a pre-approved list."

Everybody's eyes moved, as one, to the clock on the mantelpiece. It was 7:30.

"Now?" Al asked breathlessly, and could hardly believe it when Mustang nodded.

"You can all come," Mustang added, smiling broadly. "You, too, Gracia. I'm sure he would be overjoyed if you and Elysia were to visit."

So they all piled into the car, which was a bit too small, but nobody cared.

The building housing Ed was heavily guarded. A wall surrounded the perimeter, and they had to pass two checkpoints before they got to the building itself. Mustang's credentials held up each time.

Elysia was practically bouncing with excitement, her face glued to the window.

Inside the building there was still more technicalities to get through. They were searched, and both Al and Roy had their gloves confiscated.

"If you knew they were going to take them away, why'd you bring them in the first place?" Al asked, as they were being escorted further in.

"It makes them feel better when they have something obvious to confiscate," Mustang murmured back.

"What, no condoms?" asked the guard who had searched Alfons. Alfons turned beet red and didn't answer. Al couldn't – _couldn't – _process thinking of his brother in the same context as Alfons and condoms, but. Ed still deserved _respect_, and Al found himself glaring at the guard for being so crass.

The guard didn't get the hint. "For twenty cenz I can get you some!" he called after them.

Alfons tried to continue as if nothing had happened. Up ahead Al could hear Elysia: "Mom, what's a condom?"

They had to sign a document stating they would in no way be involved in anything illegal, trying to break Ed out, smuggling in anything Ed wasn't permitted, disturbing the peace, drawing arrays anywhere in the apartment, etc.

It almost amused Al, because he knew that if they set their minds to it, none of these soldiers so busy posturing could stop them from getting Ed out of there.

Another quick check, their names were written down again, next to the time of entry, and they were ascending the final flight of stairs. Two guards flanked the door on the landing at the top. Two locks and the door was open – to another door, and this was getting really fucking ridiculous. Then the last heavy door swung aside, and this was it.

Stepping into Ed's apartment was startling. Al wasn't sure what exactly he had expected, but it certainly wasn't _hominess_. A small sitting room greeted them, furnished with mismatched brown sofas, decorated with the occasional plush cushion. A serviceable carpet was on the hardwood floor, both of which had seen better days. The adjacent dining area actually sported a vase of cheap silk flowers. The 'posters', however, had definitely been put up by the guards, and Al frowned in disapproval. Those would have to go. Besides, Ed apparently didn't like girls anyway-

He cut off the thought in abject horror.

Past the decorations, though, the signs of a prison were still obvious. Aside from the four guards lounging about the room, who had shown greater alertness since the group had entered, there were other things – like the heavy bars on the one visible window. Then Ed came rushing in, and Al no longer cared what the place looked like.

"Who is it?" Ed asked eagerly. He moved with a confidence Al hadn't seen since his return. The surroundings were evidently already familiar to him. "Who came?"

"Everybody," Al said, and couldn't help but grin at the excitement on his brother's face. "Me and Winry and Mustang-"

Ed was already moving, reaching to identify them all by touch, and the sound of their voices. Al got a hug, and was slightly discomfited when Alfons did, too. Ed was obviously happy that Gracia and Elysia had come. Elysia stood solemnly while he inspected her features with quick fingers and exclaimed over how she'd grown. Al caught the moment of pain on his face – remembering Hughes? Wishing he could see her? He would probably never know.

"Sit down!" Ed said, herding them towards the sofas, waving his hands around more than necessary. "Guards, budge over. You can lurk by the walls or something."

The men moved, looking mostly tolerant. A far cry from Ed's treatment at the prison, though the basic dynamic was the same. They humored Ed, because they had all the cards, and Ed knew it. The display of bravado was empty.

There were a few moments of shuffling for seats, and Al was pleased with himself when he managed to sit next to Ed, Elysia on the other side, and Alfons was left watching wistfully from across the coffee table. They swapped stories and jokes, and for a time, things felt almost normal, despite Ed's occasional too-loud laugh, or strained smile. Later, Ed showed them around the rest of the small apartment – the windowless room where he slept, whose layer of fresh paint didn't hide the seamless concrete walls, the bathroom. No cabinets were permitted, no place he could hide anything. His few clothes lay on shelves in plain view. At least his room had a door that he could close. The kitchen boasted what appeared to be a permanent guard, and the cutlery was all numbered and chained to various surfaces. Even the _spoons_.

They needed to get Ed out of here. It was a vast improvement, and Ed was doing his best to project utter, intense happiness at their visit, but that made it no less wrong. They were still treating Ed like a potential mass murderer, and it was a fucking _insult_.

The clock kept ticking, far too quickly for Al's peace of mind. 10:00 o'clock came rushing, and the soldiers showed no tolerance for keeping people around after hours. Ed didn't protest, but Al didn't miss the sudden tension in his shoulders when people started getting up to leave.

"Brother," he said, touching Ed on the arm, and waited until his face turned towards him. "I'll be back tomorrow morning. I can read to you for a while, before I have to go to work. Okay?"

Ed flashed a smile, and perked up a bit. He shoved Al a bit, and nodded. "That's… that's good."

Al stood by him as everybody else left, close enough that Ed could feel his presence when he brushed against him. Alfons looked between the two of them helplessly for a moment, but Al kept his face blank and guileless. Eventually he gave up.

"Goodnight, Edward," he said. His hands twitched, as if he would touch Ed, but under Al's gaze he didn't dare.

"Bye, Alfons." Ed tried to smile. "You'll come back tomorrow?"

Alfons' eyes flicked over to Al, then back to Ed. He swallowed. "Yeah. Of course."

"Automail, huh? Can't believe Winry roped you into that."

"It was the easiest to arrange on short notice."

"But do you like it?" Ed asked anxiously.

There was only the slightest hesitation before Alfons answered. "It's good enough for now."

Al was relieved when the guards got tired of them, at this point, and booted Alfons out, Al on his heels. Alfons shoved both hands in his pants pockets, and shot Al a look of satisfying resentment, which Al ignored. He had learned something valuable. No matter what they might say to the newspapers, when Al was around, Alfons wouldn't touch his brother. From now on, he vowed to himself, he would _always_ be around.

On the way out he passed by Mustang, who had stayed behind to corner the guards' supervisor.

"- and by the time any of us comes back here, those damn pinups had better be gone," Mustang snarled, his fury barely contained. "Or I will know who to hold responsible."

That moment, as Al stood watching his fury, fury for _Ed_'s sake and what had been done to him, he decided that Mustang was okay. Mustang might not be forthright about it, but he was fighting for Ed every inch of the way. Mustang had always hoped that Ed would return. He could be trusted.

Al didn't know what Mustang saw in his face that made the colonel raise a questioning eyebrow at him, but he gave a short nod in response, and the corners of Mustang's mouth curved into a tight smile.

They headed out, side by side.

"I trust you'll keep an eye out when you visit tomorrow morning?" Mustang murmured.

"You'll be the first to know," Al replied.

All that evening Alfons was irritable, and Al just waited for him to explode. He wouldn't mind giving his stupid double a piece of his mind, but the opportunity never presented itself. Alfons swallowed whatever-it-was, the spineless idiot. He was still obnoxiously loud before finally falling asleep, and by now Al was pretty sure he was doing it on purpose. Nobody could be _that_ clumsy.

Getting up early was no problem when he had a visit with Ed to look forward to. He even lucked out – Alfons had a bad night, and couldn't drag himself out of bed.

In Ed's apartment, a few tears in the wallpaper were the only signs of yesterday's posters. When they saw that Al was alone, most of the guards left, which was all the better in Al's opinion.

He found Ed zoned out on one of the sofas. "Brother?" Ed didn't move, staring blankly into space, until Al gently shook him.

"Al! When did you come in?"

"Just now." Al sat down next to him. "You're just sitting here. What do you usually do with yourself?"

Ed looked embarrassed. "I was waiting for you. The guards got sick of telling me what time it was, so I figured I'd just wait out here."

"As opposed to where? Your room?"

"Yeah." Ed lowered his voice, leaned closer to Al. "I hate being out here. I keep feeling like the guards are watching me."

Al looked over at the one guard who was, indeed, watching them.

"They're kinda creepy," he admitted. Ed leaned closer to him, rested a hand on his shoulder as if to reassure himself Al was still there.

"You're not going to deny it?" Ed asked, sounding a bit amused. "For, I don't know, my peace of mind or something?"

Al was suddenly uncertain. "Should I have?" he asked, an uncomfortable pounding in his chest.

"Nah." Ed flopped back, and looked sort of happy. "'Sides, I _knew_ it."

Al looked between his brother and the guard. "I could punch them for you," he offered. "Maybe then they'd stop."

Ed's smile broadened. "Ah, I missed you."

Al flushed with pleasure, warmth spreading through him.

"But better not." Ed's voice was still light, but tenser now. "You're going to have to leave at some point."

One day, Al vowed to himself, Ed would be fearless once again. And when Ed was free, he would deal retribution on every single fucking guard that dared hurt him.

Since Ed had so many hours to while away, Al tried to come up with as many ideas as possible to keep him amused. Proper alchemy books weren't allowed, but a book of alchemical riddles didn't seem to bother the guards. Ed couldn't see the arrays, but having to imagine them gave the riddles another element, made them take longer. He was very good at them.

Other times, Al read to him – the newspaper, novels, anything that Ed found an interest in. Once, he brought a joke book and told terrible jokes until Ed couldn't help but laugh.

Those were his days: getting up early to steal half an hour with Ed before he had to be at work, spending the entire day at the lab watching the clock until the time he could return to his brother. A week passed, like that.

He grew adept at keeping Alfons away from Ed. Alfons was there often, sometimes reading to Ed from some notebooks in that weird language of his, sometimes reading to him in Amestrian while Ed poked fun at his pronunciation. But beyond the occasional welcome hug, he was mostly relegated to sitting across from Ed and watching him longingly. Once, when Al returned from using the bathroom, he found Alfons right next to Ed, one hand on Ed's knee, leaning close to say something to him. When he saw Al there, Alfons dropped his hand, looking abashed, and moved away.

"Alfons…" Ed reached out, snagged his sleeve. Alfons froze, locked between Ed's hopeful hand and the flat expression on Al's face. He met Al's eyes, then deliberately pulled his arm away, and returned to his usual spot. For a moment, Ed's hurt was plainly visible, and he opened his mouth to say something, but didn't. Ed retreated, right there in front of Al's eyes, pulled the hurt back in on himself.

He didn't – he didn't want this. But he didn't know what else to do. He couldn't just give up on his brother.

The middle of that night, he was woken by Alfons, thrashing around on his bed in the dark. After a very brief debate with himself, he rolled out of bed to wake him up. Nightmares sucked, he knew that first hand. He navigated his way across the room in the dark, but before he reached Alfons' bed, he had woken with a soft cry. Dimly, Al could see his silhouette sitting up in bed, panting shallowly with a wheezing edge.

Al shifted from foot to foot, and decided that since he was up anyway- "You okay?"

"Ahhh!" Alfons jumped, clutched his chest, and started coughing. Al sighed.

"I didn't know you were up," Alfons said sheepishly, once he had gotten his breathing under some semblance of control.

"You're noisy," Al answered, and sat down on the edge of his bed uninvited. "It's a wonder I ever get any sleep."

Alfons moved over, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked at Al. "You complain an awful lot."

Al was insulted, but Alfons continued speaking, his voice getting a bit softer.

"Edward's sort of like that. But he never complains about what really matters."

Al was pleased for a moment, then felt a rush of unease. Everybody had always used to say how different he and Ed were, and of course he wanted to be like Ed, of course he did…. He covered it up and lashed out.

"You want to know what matters?" he snapped. "I hate my job. It's boring and they treat me like an idiot."

Alfons tried to say something, but Al cut him off.

"And don't you say anything, you have no room to talk. You're building automail, while I'm stuck writing-"

"You think I _like_ automail?" Alfons said. "I was never the best at electronics. I don't know anything about automail, and I don't know anything about biology, and my coordination is still bad. I'm a rocket scientist, and maybe I'll never be able to build a rocket here because your world is such a damn mess. Be thankful you're at least using the skills you trained for!"

Al… hadn't thought of it that way. He hadn't considered that Alfons might find working on automail as miserable as he found his own job.

But then, he thought, shouldn't Alfons have thought of that before he left his own world to follow Ed?

Alfons seemed to find his silence encouraging, because he started talking again. "Look, Al, I know you don't really like me… it would be hard to miss that, really," he tried to laugh, "but I don't want to fight with you. I won't take Ed away from you-"

"Shut up," Al snapped, jumping to his feet. Alfons who was so, so _innocent_ and guileless, who pretended that everything would be happy, who was kind to people and patient and older and _everything Al should have been_. "Just shut up. Don't you realize it, you bastard? _You already have_."

Alfons was left gaping, and Al just couldn't look at him anymore. He half-ran the few steps back to his bed, grabbed his pillow and blankets, and left. He didn't slam the door behind him.

The sofa was uncomfortable, but less than spending another minute in his double's company.

* * *

After that, Al grew even more frustrated with his work. He started spending more time on his arrays, trying to make even the simplest of them conform to Chamberlin's Aesthetics Principles, even though it took a lot of rerouting of energy to make it happen. Artistic arrays were not normally widely used.

He was at his desk calculating angles when one of the other workers approached him. An older man, his hair already graying, dressed in a neat suit. Al finally noticed him hovering – it was another one of the alchemists, he was pretty sure, but for the life of him Al couldn't remember his name – and when they made eye contact, the man stepped over.

"Um, do you need something?" _Please not sewage purification again._

"I was wondering if you could help me," the man said, laying a sheet of calculations down on the desk in front of him. At the bottom of the page were array components, not yet arranged.

Al looked back up at him warily, wondering if this was some sort of trick.

The man stepped over, and pulled Al's latest array over to him. "This array is beautiful. Never seen anything like it, outside of books." He shook his head. "It's obvious you're overqualified for this job. I've worked here for fifteen years, and not only are your arrays more elegant than anybody else's, you make them both balanced and intricate at the same time."

"I don't want your job-" Al began, alarmed, but stopped when the man shook his head.

"I shouldn't think so. You can do much more. But while you're here, I'll be damned if I don't try and learn a trick or two."

His skills appreciated, somewhere away from people who compared him to his brother, compared him to who he had been.

"It's fine," he said, and actually flashed the man a quick smile. "I don't mind." He wondered at the kind of courage it took for this man to be asking for help from somebody so much younger.

_But I'm really nineteen_, he reminded himself.

The man pulled over another chair, and Al began to explain just where he had gone wrong. Later, when they finished, he sheepishly admitted that he didn't know his name.

"Barnes," the man said, and looked slightly amused.

"I'm Alphonse-"

"Elric. I know." Barnes turned to leave, the completed array tucked under his arm, a pencil behind his ear.

That day was exceptionally good, because on the way back from work Al had a stroke of brilliance. He bought Ed a picture puzzle, fifty pieces, one of the carefully-cut expensive ones. Ed would be able to put it together even without seeing, and it would give him something to while away the hours with. Al didn't like how often he found Ed daydreaming.

Ed was pleased, and set the puzzle up on the dining room table that very evening. He refused offers of help from both Al and Alfons, and sat painstakingly sorting through the pieces by touch.

"But what's it a picture of?" he asked.

Al shifted. "A rabbit," he said. "But that's okay, right?"

Ed shook his head, but smiled a bit. "Remember the first rabbit we snared on Yock Island?"

"Yes," Al said, and this time he was telling the truth. He had those memories.

"Does it look like that rabbit?"

"No, this one's black and white. It's some sort of domestic breed."

"A cow rabbit, huh?" Ed paused in his sorting, and cocked his head. Alfons laughed, Ed looked pleased with himself, and Al had to fight to keep his mood from souring.

The puzzle grew, slowly but surely, as the days passed. Al's job was slightly more tolerable, now that he had Barnes to talk to. Once, he even found himself wondering what Barnes would say about Alfons, if he would have any useful advice. But that meant explaining the whole sorry mess, and it wasn't something Al was willing to do. Saying it would make it real.

At least Alfons wasn't mentioning their little conflict to Ed. Or at least, Al assumed he wasn't, because Ed didn't confront him. Alfons probably wasn't talking because the whole thing was a stupid farce anyway, Al told himself.

Some evenings, after visiting with Ed, he sat with Harris until late while the lawyer picked his brain for tidbits which could help with the trial. When asked, Harris said he was still gathering information, but from the way things were looking, soon enough they would have to come up with plausible enough cover stories. Ed never asked how trial-related issues were coming along. Al figured he had enough of that with Harris, and didn't press.

It was the middle of the third week, and Al arrived to find that the puzzle, which had been growing steadily on the table, was nowhere to be found. Ed sported a black eye and split lip, and was in a terrible mood.

"He just attacked with no warning," a guard said coolly when Al confronted him. "As I reported several times already."

Al didn't care. "And the puzzle?"

The guard didn't blink. "It fell on the floor, and Elric went ballistic."

Right, _fell_, Al thought savagely. But there was no proof, and Ed wouldn't say anything. All he asked, when he had calmed down a bit, was that Al look over the small stacks of his clothes in his room to make sure they were still color-coded the way Ed had arranged them.

"My socks get mismatched," Ed said. The socks that Al himself had helped pair up by color.

Even now, his feet sported one black and one white sock, and Al was torn between saying something so that Ed could fix it, and allowing Ed to know that somebody he couldn't see had been enjoying mocking him.

He wanted to hurt the guards, wanted to follow them home and beat them bloody. For a moment, he wondered wildly if he could somehow trade his own eyes for Ed's, spare his brother at least this much. He would do it in an instant, but Ed would never thank him for it.

"Do you want another puzzle?" he asked. Ed shook his head, eyes downcast.

"It's okay, Al. I have other things to do." It was a lie, but Ed was right.

There really wasn't any point.

He would have reassured his brother that it wouldn't be long now until the trial started, and then things would be moving towards a resolution – but Ed wasn't looking forward to the trial. None of them were. The chances of winning were slim, and their alternative was fleeing the country. And Ed didn't know about that plan, anyway.

Only two and a half weeks left until the trial, and Al was used to the routine. So he didn't think there was anything strange about Ed going to his room to get something, because Ed liked to do things himself, to prove he still could. He didn't think anything of Alfons going to the bathroom, because why should he care?

But Ed was taking longer than he should, so Al set aside his book and went to make sure he didn't need help. He turned down the short corridor (two steps, three steps), meaning to head for Ed's room.

Until he saw the open bathroom door, and the image burnt itself onto his retinas, imprinted onto his very brain, down to the last detail. Alfons was pressed against the wall, slumped a bit with his legs braced outwards, and Ed was against him, and they were kissing. Ed had his back to him, but Al could clearly see the arch of his brother's body, the way his arms wrapped around Alfons' neck, holding him close. Alfons' hands were all over his brother's backside, and Al was frozen in horror for too long before he managed to tear himself away and stumble back to the living room.

It was real. His heart was trying to pound its way out of his chest, and he felt vaguely nauseous. This was no farce, no joke. Because he couldn't pretend that Ed was confused, or that Ed didn't want this, because Ed couldn't be _confused_ into holding somebody like that. Ed wouldn't _let_ somebody do that to him if he didn't want it, Ed was his big brother, Ed was indomitable.

Al's knees gave way, dropping him to the sofa.

He had lost. He had lost years ago, when he was still trying to convince everybody that Ed was alive, and Ed was growing up and _falling in love_ with somebody from another world. With _Al_ from another world.

Eventually Ed came back, and Alfons came back, and they talked about stuff. Or Alfons read to him, or maybe Al did. He couldn't keep track of anything. When talked to, he answered, and tried to act like everything was okay. Maybe he managed.

The two of them looked so _normal_. Alfons still got embarrassed whenever he was caught staring at Ed, Ed tried to act like he wasn't stuck in prison. Had Al not seen them, he wouldn't have suspected.

Did this happen every time Al turned his back?

For the first time, the end of the visit came as a relief. Al left – found himself outside – and had to pause, try and replace the image that appeared every time he closed his eyes. Against each wall, their image superimposed itself. Everywhere he looked were couples.

And he still had to share a car with Alfons on the way back.

"He's very depressed about the puzzle," Alfons said. As if Al hadn't noticed. "It was very important to him, because you gave it to him. He wanted to show you that he could do it, so he wouldn't let me help."

Al turned away from the window, where his elbow leaned against the frame, and glared at Alfons.

But he couldn't keep it up, he couldn't hold Alfons' gaze, not those eyes that always looked at his brother with such adoration. Al looked back out the window, pulled his right knee up to his chest.

The car was stifling.

When they pulled up in front of Gracia's Al was out of the car and up the stairs almost before it had rolled of a halt. He tore into the house, and nearly ran Gracia down in the hallway. She paused, and touched him on the shoulder gently.

"Al, what's the matter?"

_Everything_. Al looked up, bit his lip.

Did nobody else realize how _wrong_ this was? What if it didn't bother anybody else because they all liked Alfons better?

He shook his head, ducked past her, and ran upstairs. He pretended not to hear her call his name.

Dinnertime came and went. Nobody called him down, for which Al was thankful. He didn't think he could deal with them right now. The clock ticked away, and every minute that passed was one minute closer to when Alfons would inevitably come up to bed. Coming to a decision, Al changed quickly, got into bed, and turned out the light, what turned out to be a bare few minutes before Alfons entered the room.

He hesitated in the door, his shadow falling across the square of light from the hall.

"Al?" he whispered uncertainly. "Are you awake?"

Al didn't move, kept his breathing even. Apparently deciding he was asleep, Alfons began getting together his stuff for bed. Al almost wanted to laugh when he realized that Alfons was making exaggerated efforts to keep quiet and not wake him up.

So _considerate_.

Fabric rustled. Alfons was getting undressed, and Al couldn't keep from thinking of how Ed probably undressed him-

He couldn't even wish Alfons gone. Ed had chosen him, Ed loved him. Al rolled over, and fought to keep his breath from catching on the lump in his throat.

Whenever Alfons was the least bit unhappy, Ed always asked after him. He never asked about Al.

The next day, for the first time, Al didn't go visit his brother.

* * *

The house arrest should have been an improvement, Harris thought on his way up. In certain ways, it was. On good days, Ed was far more receptive than he had been at the prison.

But at the same time, Harris was beginning to have serious worries about his mental health. Ed sometimes seesawed between depression and a kind of mania, where he talked too much and too loud, and pretended too hard that he was with the program. Harris had the suspicion that he was far more afraid of the upcoming trial than he let on, but Ed wouldn't admit to anything, and Alfons was vague on the subject.

Then there was the time Harris had found him in bed, as if asleep – except his eyes were open, staring. Shaking had roused him, fairly quickly. When asked, Ed had denied any knowledge of what Harris was talking about.

Thank god, today Ed was both awake and alert, and showed no signs of strangeness. Harris set his briefcase down on the coffee table, dismissed the guards. He and Ed exchanged the barest of pleasantries; they met often enough to render them meaningless.

"Have you given thought to our trial strategy?" Harris asked.

Ed twisted his hands in the hem of his dull blue flannel shirt, and finally nodded shortly, surprising Harris. A cooperative Ed would be a nice change.

"So you're giving me the go-ahead with the strategy we've discussed."

"I have a different idea," Ed said, and _that_ was unexpected.

"I was under the impression your knowledge of law is limited."

Ed ran his flesh hand through his bangs. "Alfons has been reading to me," he admitted, as abashed as if Harris had caught them at something. "And I thought-"

As Ed detailed his plan, Harris couldn't help but rub at his temples in frustration.

The idea was legally sound, cleverly utilizing a loophole in the law. But there were several severe problems with it.

For one, it brought to light several bits of information Ed hadn't thought to share with him earlier. For another, it was completely insane and would never work.

He told Ed so, and did not mince words.

Ed hardly blinked, and the stubborn frown didn't leave his face. He _had_ been thinking about this a lot. Oh dear.

"Equivalent Exchange," Ed said, sticking his chin out. "If you look into the evidence to support this idea, I'll give you an okay for your plan."

Harris leaned back against the back of the sofa, crossed his arms, and regarded his client through narrowed eyes. "You'll stop complaining about putting everybody in danger?"

Ed squirmed a bit. "…Is mostly enough?"

It was probably all Harris would get out of him. "Agreed, then." Gathering this evidence meant that Ed would be forced to cooperate with a doctor for a change. There were upsides.

"In that case, walk me through this… idea of yours again." Not that he really needed it. The story was chilling enough that its details would probably remain with Harris for a good long time.

It explained so much. So very much.

Ed sat up straighter and began talking. Now that he knew what to expect, Harris noticed other details – the detached, almost ironic way Ed told the story, for one. Disassociation, he thought. The damage to Ed's psyche must have been considerable.

Really, he had never had a client as thoroughly, all-around _depressing_ as Edward Elric.

* * *

Alfons leaned his head on the streetcar's window and stifled a yawn. It had been a long day, the automail had been exceptionally frustrating, and even if it wasn't even 7 o'clock, he was seriously ready to contemplate a nap, or maybe just sleep the night through.

He had to visit Edward, though.

That thought woke him up, and he felt a trickle of unease. He didn't _have_ to visit Edward. He _wanted_ to. He missed Edward so very much, and he knew that once he got there, his tiredness would be forgotten. It always was.

And yet, coming home to an empty bed no longer seemed so strange to him.

It was like his life had rewound. He was working for his keep, again, living at Gracia's (even if she wasn't the Gracia he knew), and Edward wasn't there.

For no apparent reason, he found himself remembering the first time he had met Edward, when asked to show him around during their studies in Transylvania. Edward had been strangely quiet at first – brash around everybody else, but uncomfortable and sad around Alfons. Until one night when they had both been slightly drunk (or had Edward been drunk at all? Had he been faking it even then?) and started discussing rocketry. Alfons had been introduced to Edward's brilliant mind, and the first of the stories of Amestris. That time, Alfons had hugged him drunkenly and told him everything would be okay.

Maybe that was when everything had started.

Alfons noticed his stop too late, and had to scramble to get off the streetcar in time. Outside, he tightened his scarf, put his hands in his pockets, and headed to the now-familiar building which was Edward's current prison.

He was lucky that evening. The guards inside were ones he knew, and were of the more sympathetic breed. The ones who didn't switch the contents of the salt and sugar bowls, who didn't move the carpets just to mess with Edward's head. One sat at the dining room table, a crossword puzzle forgotten in front of her, eyes now trained on them. In the kitchen, another one was drinking something hot over a book.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw Edward. Even after so long.

"Nobody else is here?" he asked, looking around, as if somebody would materialize in the small room. Guards didn't count.

Edward hugged him – practically fell into him – and shook his head. "Al's stuck at work, he sent a message." His voice was slightly muffled by Alfons' chest, and the warmth of him was distracting – but not enough for Alfons to forget the other people in the room and relax into it.

Edward pulled away, and shot an unfocused, worried glance at Alfons' collarbone. "Do you think he's angry at me?" he asked in a small voice.

"Al's boss is an idiot," Alfons said, squeezing Edward's shoulders. He wanted to switch to German. "He's absolutely not angry, if anything, he's annoyed that he's being forced to work overtime."

Besides, Alfons thought, Al seemed more depressed than angry, lately.

"Okay," Edward said, accepting. Alfons thought of everything he was keeping from Edward – the strain, his dissatisfaction with his job, Al's severe dislike of him, and felt unspeakably guilty.

Alfons stepped back. He wanted to touch Edward, run his fingers over his cheekbone. But the guard was watching.

"What do you want to do?" he asked. "Should I read to you?" Alfons always brought at least three books – one alchemy, one law, one fiction – to fit whichever whim might strike Edward.

Edward ran his hand down Alfons' arm, raising goosebumps even under two layers of fabric, and touched Alfons' hand.

"Let's go to my room," Edward said. Alfons was torn. He couldn't blithely take Edward's hand and go prancing off into his room right in front of the guards – but he couldn't hang back, either. He couldn't reject Edward in front of anybody else.

So he followed as Edward led, the back of his neck burning, eyes firmly trained on Edward's ponytail.

For Edward's sake, he would pretend they were alone.

Lacking a latch, the door to Edward's room swung back and forth on its hinges, squeaking softly. Alfons took a moment to steady it before stepping forward, and hoped desperately it would stay in place. It probably would do nothing to block sound.

Oh God.

But Edward was waiting for him, looking hopeful, so Alfons wrapped his arms around him, pulled him flush against his chest, and kissed behind his ear. Edward shivered and made a small sound, which Alfons tried not to flinch at.

Edward apparently didn't notice, though, because his only reaction was to turn in Alfons' arms, pull his head down, and kiss him. Edward's flesh hand tangled in his hair, and his automail was heavy on Alfons' neck, but the taste of his mouth was plenty distracting. Almost enough to forget the latchless door.

"I want to see you," Edward breathed, fisting his hands in Alfons' shirt. "It's like… you're only real when I'm touching you, you always sit so far away. Sometimes I don't know if you're still there, I'm afraid to ask because what if you left and I just forgot-"

Alfons kissed him again, pulled him close and ran his tongue over Edward's lips, slipped into his mouth.

He was so hot under his two layers. When Edward ran a hand under his shirt, letting in air, it was a relief, even though his fingers burned against Alfons' skin.

"I'm right here," Alfons mumbled into Edward's neck.

Edward tugged at his sweater in annoyance, unable to get it over Alfons' head while Alfons was busy with his collarbone.

"What happened to button-downs?" Edward griped. "Alfons, get this off." He laughed, only a bit bitterly. "I don't even know what you're wearing."

Taking off the sweater meant pulling away, which meant letting go of Edward's shoulders and getting his lips off Edward's skin. The effort it took was monumental.

"You want a description?" Alfons asked breathlessly. Color stained Edward's cheeks and his eyes were alight, his hair a tousled mess. Alfons couldn't remember a time when he had ever wanted Edward more.

"Yeah."

Except if somebody was listening at the door…. Alfons ignored the thought. "A-" _brown sweater_, he started to say, then changed his mind.

"Jeans," he blurted, before he could think of all the reasons this was a bad idea. "…Tight jeans. And a silk shirt." Which would probably look really stupid together. Alfons wanted to bury himself.

But Edward was smiling, and looked sort of interested, fingers curled in the rough fibers of his sweater. He licked his lips, and asked, "What color?"

Which would be best? Alfons' heartbeat was too loud to think, so he tossed the question back. "What do you think?"

Edward stilled, ran his fingers down the front of Alfons' chest, and pressed his hips closer. "Blue," he breathed, and smiled at the thought.

Alfons should have known.

Edward pulled him down into another heated kiss, and Alfons tried not to notice that kissing was actually sort of loud.

Undressing was a better distraction. Alfons discarded his sweater, and the shirt underneath joined it on the floor. Getting Edward's clothes off around the automail was a bit complicated, and they both cursed when his shirt got caught on his elbow.

They tumbled onto the bed. Edward was thinner than he had been last time they had done this – what, two months ago? His ribs jutted a bit under Alfons' questing fingers, and his stomach and thighs were no longer rock-hard. But it didn't bother Alfons. Nothing bothered him, not the automail humming in his ear, or his fingers catching in the dip of the scar on Edward's stomach.

At one point, when Edward rolled him onto his back and straddled him, he could hear the words echoing in his memory: _you're the girl, right_?

His stomach turned over, and he hardly noticed he had stopped moving until Edward froze, worried.

"Alfons?" he whispered. "Did I do something wrong?"

He could flip them over, change their positions, and Edward wouldn't complain or mind. Looking up at Edward's sightless eyes, which reflected uncertainty that was too close to the surface these days, he knew that Edward would do whatever he wanted right now.

Damn it, he had nothing to prove.

"No," he murmured back. "Edward, make me forget."

And for a time, Edward did.

Afterwards, they even dozed off for a bit, Edward with his head on Alfons' shoulder, left arm around his stomach, and hair absolutely everywhere. Alfons thought, vaguely, that he could probably go for another round. But Edward was tired, it was painfully evident in his boneless collapse.

He must have slept a bit, as well, because Edward was kissing him awake. Alfons smiled and nuzzled his face, kissed at the stubble right beneath his lower lip.

"Alfons?" Edward began. "There's something…." He trailed off, and swallowed.

It took Alfons a few minutes to realize why that tone was enough to wake him up and cool his passion. It sounded like the tone Edward used when he talked about his death.

"What is it?" Alfons looked up into Edward's too-open face, the worry on it clearly readable.

Edward sat up, dropping his feet over the edge of the bed. He hid his face. "We should shower. Come on."

Alfons didn't push.

He helped gather up their clothes into two piles, then peeked out the door to make sure nobody was watching. Several times. When he was as sure as he could be that the coast was clear, they both dashed the few steps to the bathroom. This door did have a latch, but no lock.

"You want to go first?" Alfons asked. Normally they would bicker over it, but he wasn't in the mood.

Edward blushed furiously, and mumbled something about showering together, and was obviously relieved when Alfons agreed.

They hadn't ever done this before, Alfons thought. For some reason they had always traded off showers – maybe because Edward struggled with his prosthetics and didn't want Alfons to see, maybe because Alfons didn't have patience to deal with Edward's shedding, maybe because Alfons sometimes sang and Edward made fun of him for it. Alfons stepped into the narrow cubicle after him, and Edward turned on the water.

"It's too hot," Alfons said, flinching away from the spray. Edward turned towards him and frowned.

"What are you talking about? This barely qualifies as _warm_. "

This was probably another reason they didn't shower together.

"Turn it down a bit! What are you trying to do, see if you can get the water to boil?" Alfons yelped. He tried to push past Edward to get at the knob, but just ended up scrabbling uselessly against his arms.

"You're being melodramatic. Quit it, Alfons, no horsing around in the shower!" But he turned down the temperature a bit. "Happy now? Or should I get you some ice?"

Alfons crossed his arms. "I'm happy." Even though the water was still a bit on the hot side. Now that he wasn't suffering anymore, he could appreciate the way it ran down Edward's body in rivulets, how his wet hair trailed down his back and stuck to the sides of his face. Edward was sort of self-conscious, but he let Alfons scrub his back and wash his hair, and made approving noises when Alfons rubbed shampoo into his scalp.

A few minutes of this, and Alfons was getting kind of turned on. He tried to keep from rubbing against Edward, who was very clearly not up for it yet, but Edward noticed anyway. He pressed Alfons against the wall of the shower and jerked him off, while Alfons dug his fingers into his back and whispered praises into his mouth.

It had to end eventually. They were clean, and time was running out. Alfons got their towels and wrapped Edward in his, sat down on the toilet lid to let Edward rub his hair dry.

From behind him, Edward threaded his fingers through Alfons' hair, ran his hand down to trace the line of his neck and shoulders.

"Alfons," Edward said, and took a deep breath. "You – you know I really love you, right? I – please don't be angry at me."

Nonplussed, Alfons nodded, knowing Edward could feel it, and wondered what was going on. "I'm not angry."

"You're doing okay, right? Even – without me?"

What was the right answer? "You know I would rather be with you." Alfons tried to keep his voice steady, and didn't turn around. He could hardly move for how shallow his breath came, and the acrobatics his heart was doing in his chest. "If this is about the trial, Edward, we're not going to let you die."

They were speaking in German. He could allow himself to say it.

"That's not it." Edward's hand still worried at his hair, in short, tense strokes.

"The blindness?"

"No."

Alfons was running out of ideas, but maybe now Edward would finally explain.

"Remember when I went to pray? Before we left?"

Alfons nodded, mouth dry, hyperaware of Edward's warmth behind him.

"I tried to make a deal. I said that if somebody had to pay a price, it should be me."

Alfons twisted around, looked up at Edward. "What price?" He could hardly get the words out. "_What price_?" he repeated, when Edward just shook his head helplessly. "Edward!"

"Nichievo," Edward whispered.

* * *

One week to the trial. Just one more week, and they would all quit their jobs, because none of them were willing to be away while Edward's fate was being decided. When they weren't working, Harris had them running errands, collecting last bits of data, digging up crucial last minute information.

In addition, Harris drilled them mercilessly on their cover stories. None of them had heard Edward ever admit to doing Human Transmutation. Al would simply say he remembered nothing of the episode. Alfons would be kept off the witness stand, if at all possible. If not, he was to claim to be an illegal immigrant from a country to the north of Amestris, who had been taken in by the Rockbells. He spent his evenings memorizing maps and history. Harris reassured him this was just a precaution. From what he had seen, the prosecution had no interest in him.

He had almost no free time to ponder Edward's problems, though they gnawed at him mercilessly. With the way Edward was constantly meeting with various people, being rushed to checkups, and who knew what else, he didn't get any chances to try and pry more information out of him. Alfons managed to comfort himself with one thing. Despite Edward's talk of paying prices, there was nothing visibly wrong with him. If Edward didn't drop dead (the thought made Alfons' stomach twist), chances were he'd be okay for a bit longer. Once the trial started up, Alfons would try and get him alone again, maybe get some more information. He was _through_ with watching Edward suffer.

Al was still hostile and quiet, but seemed to have perked up a bit with all the work that needed to be done. Either way, he wouldn't appreciate Alfons asking if he was okay, so Alfons didn't bother.

Since none of them could sleep the night before anyway, Mustang brought them over to his base for a clandestine meeting dealing with the preliminary issues of breaking Edward out, should escape be necessary. Once Alfons had reassured them he could provide plans for a plane big enough to carry about twenty people, they spent the rest of the evening arguing about possible destinations.

It was better than lying in bed and staring at the ceiling.

They all met at Edward's apartment before the trial to get him ready. This time, he wouldn't be shuffling in chains, wearing a dull, ill-fitting prison uniform. They dressed him in a tight black sleeveless shirt which showed off his muscles and his automail, polished to gleaming by Winry. Black leather pants and a wide brown leather belt completed his costume. Gracia brushed his hair and braided it neatly, despite Edward's complaints that he could do it himself.

He looked like the Fullmetal Alchemist.

And when he entered the courtroom, not a single person present could keep their eyes off him. This wasn't just any alchemist standing trial for terrible alchemy. It was the Hero of the People.

They stood, and sat, and court was called into session.

"Now begins trial number 46502, the State of Amestris against Edward Elric, accused of the crime of Human Transmutation, on a day between the 10th and the 12th of February, 1910. How does the defendant plead?"

Before Harris could open his mouth, Edward scrambled to his feet.

"Guilty," he announced, to a stunned silence.

"Innocent!" Harris tried to pull him back into his seat, but Edward fought.

Justice Tsamis looked sternly at the two of them. "Mr. Harris, is there a problem?"

Harris sat down, defeated, and shook his head. "No, Your Honor."

"And how do you plead?"

Harris closed his fingers around Edward's wrist and said, "Guilty, Your Honor."


	41. The Past

_Okay so I'm not even going to talk about the delay this time. I'm sorry about it, but life is (more or less) back on track again. Also, this chapter. _This chapter_. Guh. But here it is, basically complete, and the betas are basically happy with it, and I am very indebted to them for the constant, repetetive rounds of "...but what about this?"_

_Also - we're nearing the end of the fic. I know I've said this before, but I _will _be completing this fic, and if you've stuck around this long, ILU and hang in there! Thank you all for your comments, love, and support. I hope you enjoy the chapter._

* * *

Alfons wasn't really afraid of Edward dying. He sat in Gracia's living room, leaning over the back of the sofa to look out the window at the street in front of the house, and he wasn't thinking of Edward getting hung or shot or however they executed people in this world. Because they wouldn't let that happen. When Edward's fate was ultimately in the hands of people like his brother and Colonel Mustang, there was nothing to worry about.

Right now, Alfons was thinking about how they would have to run.

For a long time, now, he had tried to get used to the thought of Amestris being his home, instead of Germany. He would never forget his homeland, that was a given. But he couldn't live his life belonging nowhere, always dreaming of some far-off place he would never see again. So Edward had told him stories of Amestris, and Alfons had tried to think of it as home. Or at least, a land of new opportunities.

It wasn't even that unfamiliar. Amestris was, after all, a mirror of America – and he had lived in America for months. For a month already he had lived Gracia's house, and though she wasn't _his_ Gracia, the face was the same. In this world, she had even married Officer Hughes.

He wondered if somewhere across the sea was a parallel of Germany, and if it was anything like his home. If they had to run, was going there a possibility?

It might be worse, though. Living somewhere that was so familiar, but so wrong. He had seen firsthand how miserable it could make somebody. He was so tired of it all. Going somewhere new, learning a new language, trying to get by – it no longer seemed like such an adventure. And they would probably be running, maybe living in hiding. For the rest of their lives.

Alfons really could have punched Edward, right about then. Because he _knew_ Edward was messed up and had issues, but he hadn't expected this. What the hell was _wrong_ with him?

He sighed and turned away from the window. Five o'clock. Still two hours before they could see Edward, and Alfons was just itching to give him a piece of his mind.

For that matter, he wouldn't mind having words with Harris. How the hell had he let this happen?

Movement from the other sofa caught his eye. Al had come in at some point, and was slumped in his seat, staring off in to the distance. He looked miserable.

Alfons wanted to ask if he had any idea what Edward was thinking, if he had known, but Al's expression was explanation enough. Had he seen it coming, he wouldn't be looking like his world had collapsed around him, now.

It must be even worse for Al; he hadn't known Edward in Germany, didn't know the sort of things Edward had been willing to do to restore his body.

From the kitchen, he could hear the radio, which Winry had been listening to for hours. If he concentrated, he could make out words. From what he gathered, they were debating endlessly about Edward's announcement of guilt. Whether or not it was a ruse, whether there was a plan, whether Edward was framed or had been betrayed or coerced….

Alfons would have liked to know, as well, but Harris was with Edward. He sighed, and wished the clock would tick faster.

He wondered when they would leave, but it wasn't safe to discuss it, not here. He wondered who would be coming with them. He wondered if being in exile with other exiles was easier.

* * *

They all went together, this time, but a smaller, more subdued group than had gone last. It was only him, Mustang, Winry, and Al in the car, and the air crackled with repressed emotion. Nobody spoke.

In their urgency they had arrived early, and were forced to stand around and wait, watching the seconds tick by until the guards allowed them in. For a change, nobody made any lewd comments to Alfons. Which was lucky, because he would have probably attacked them if they had.

Edward and Harris were sitting at the table. Harris had his head in his hands and looked exhausted, several empty mugs sitting in front of him. Edward was slumped his seat, but the stubborn set of his jaw meant that he wasn't feeling nearly repentant enough.

Mustang was first in, and began speaking almost before he had crossed the threshold.

"You insufferable _brat_!" He strode across the room and grabbed Edward's collar, tugging him up. "You were always an insubordinate piece of work, but I never thought I'd see the day you willfully put your selfish, crackpot ideas before the welfare of the people who have been fighting tooth and nail to keep you safe!"

"I-"

"Shut up, Fullmetal," he growled, and shook him. Nobody seemed inclined to tell him to back off. Not Al, not even the guards. "You've finally dug yourself into a hole I can't get you out of. Congratulations."

He let go of Edward's shirt and stalked off. Alfons saw the shift of emotions on Edward's face, the sudden fear that flashed across it. He was only now starting to realize how badly he had hurt them. The _idiot_. Alfons swallowed, and struggled not to cough.

Nobody else said anything, which was making Edward nervous.

"I had to do it," he said into the silence, a pleading edge to his voice. "It wouldn't have _worked_ otherwise. I had to do it this way." At the continuing silence, Edward shifted, eyes roving desperately. His hands clenched on the edge of the table. "Harris, _tell them_."

Alfons was sick to death of hearing how Edward just _had_ to do things a certain way. And that excuse only ever seemed to crop up when he was risking his life, or _worse_-

"I think you're the one who owes everybody an explanation," Harris said quietly.

Or worse. Everything crystallized in Alfons' mind, then, and he realized what was going on. "You're trying to die," he said in German. A sick sort of fury rose with the words.

Edward stiffened and stared in his direction, mouth open. "What?" he said, also switching to German.

"I can't believe I didn't realize this before."

"What the hell makes you think I'm trying to commit _suicide_?" Edward snarled.

"Because _you did it already_." It all made sense. "You've been trying to die since America. That stupid business with the will – and then you were sure you'd die coming through – you have a fucking serious martyr complex. You keep trying to take the fall, and surviving, and now you're trying to finish the job."

Edward scrambled to his feet. "I fucking told you I didn't commit suicide! The will was to protect you-"

"What else do you call trading your life for your brother's?" Alfons sneered. "Looks like suicide to me."

"I told you I had no choice!" Edward's voice wavered. "I thought you trusted me enough to believe that."

"Until you go and announce your guilt for a crime which has never been pardoned!"

"I have a plan-"

"What, like the time with Al? Where the plan involved _killing yourself_?"

"_Leave that out of this!_" Edward shouted, shaking in earnest now.

"Why should I? You keep saying you _had_ to do it. What's to say you don't _have_ to do it now, either?"

"It's not the same situation." Edward's voice cracked. "Alfons, I don't want to leave you-"

"Then _tell me_, damn it." Alfons wasn't sure why nobody was interfering. They just looked between him and Edward, having their crazy conversation in a language nobody else spoke. Maybe it was some obscure Boyfriend Privilege, that he got to have his own yell at Edward.

"Please, Alfons."

Alfons didn't give a damn about how Edward might not want to talk about it. Why had he even come here, if all Edward was going to do was try and get himself killed? "We've been fighting so long for _you_, you ingrate-"

"Are you _crying_?" Edward looked horrified.

"_No_," Alfons snarled, and swiped his sleeve across his eyes.

Heavy, stifling silence descended. Edward tugged at his sleeves. His choked-off breaths were audible.

"It's impossible to create a human body," Edward said.

Alfons' head jerked up to look at him. "What?"

"Too many details. I couldn't have done it from scratch. And neither could Al, even with the Philosopher's Stone. He was close, but not enough." Edward took a steadying breath, but it only came out as a gasp. "The body Al transmuted for me wasn't working right. I would have died. I- I could _feel_ how wrong it was. But using that body as a base – I could fix it. But I had to sacrifice myself to do it." He steadied himself on the edge of the table, gripping until his knuckles turned white. "I was never supposed to transmute Al by myself. We were supposed to do it together."

Alfons tried to digest this. "Why wouldn't you say any of this before?" Maybe it wouldn't have actively changed anything, but the knowledge would have made a difference.

Edward scuffed his shoe against the floor and hunched over tiredly. "Because Al fucked up," he said in a small voice. "Al thought he was sacrificing himself to save me – and it wouldn't have worked. It's not fair. I- didn't want you to know."

So… Edward hadn't said anything because he didn't want Alfons to think badly of Al. For goodness' _sake_.

"You're a moron. Seriously."

"I know," Edward mumbled.

"And if your body had been perfect, would you have still sacrificed yourself?" Alfons held his breath as he waited for the answer. Edward struggled, then finally squared his shoulders.

"I don't know."

And that, Alfons could see on his face, was the truth. He didn't like it, still. But at the same time, he wasn't sure he would have trusted a denial. Some of the tension left him.

"And this idea of yours? You really pulled this stunt because you think it can work?"

Edward nodded frantically. "I really did come up with something. Alfons, I. I already died for Human Transmutation."

Three times, Alfons knew.

"I don't want to do it again."

Alfons crossed his arms on his chest and let out a breath. "It had better work," he told Edward, and couldn't keep a sort of grim smile off his face. "If it doesn't, we're going to be breaking you out and we'll all have to flee the country." There were advantages to nobody here speaking German, and Mustang's caution against using it too often where others could hear proved a useful deterrent to decoding.

Edward's mouth dropped open. "You can't _do_ that! Alfons, what the hell? Are you mad?"

"No more than you." He turned to everybody else, and switched back to English. "I think that maybe Edward did have some plan in mind when he did this stupid thing."

"But what's the point of having a strategy if everybody knows he's guilty?" Winry asked. "Isn't that the end?" She struggled to keep her voice even.

Harris, who had hardly moved the entire time, cleared his throat. Edward shook himself a bit, and fumbled his way back to his seat. Alfons pulled up a chair as well, and the atmosphere grew a bit less hostile. When they were seated, Harris explained.

"In our legal system, an admission of guilt is used as testimony, but does not override the prosecution's need to provide evidence of the crime. It will shorten the trial, no doubt, but we will still have a chance to present evidence."

"Evidence of _what_?" Mustang growled.

Harris hesitated, looked at Edward, then said, "This is not the forum to discuss that. We will talk later."

Later. Alfons wasn't sure if he could wait that long. "You could tell me in German," he suggested.

"Later," Harris repeated, in a tone that brooked no argument. Alfons subsided, but couldn't keep from glowering at Edward just a bit.

"I get that you're all pissed off now," Edward said, tentatively. "And fuck, I'm sorry I didn't say anything before. But there _is_ a plan. And it's going to be easier. Because we've just gotta tell the _truth_. The prosecution can't do anything against that."

Alfons saw his own shock mirrored on the others' faces, but he wasn't sure if it was for the same reason. When Edward said 'tell the truth', what did he actually _mean_? Which part of it?

They didn't stay much longer. Mustang wanted some time with Edward, so Alfons and Winry said their goodbyes. Al, who hadn't said anything the entire time, hung back. As Alfons was leaving, he saw that Edward had taken him aside, and was talking to him softly. They had their heads together – one blonde, one leaning towards brown, and with their matching ponytails, they really looked like brothers. Alfons quashed unease.

* * *

The conversation continued later that night, in the privacy of Gracia's living room. Elysia was long asleep, and Harris frankly looked like he wouldn't mind sleeping as well. Alfons knew that expression, the tightening of the lips and shortness of speech. His father had done the same thing when he was exhausted, and things weren't working out.

He wondered, uncomfortably, if he and Al had the same mannerisms as well.

"Obviously, the strategy we've been discussing is no longer relevant," Harris began. "Our goal now is to show that according to the laws currently existing in Amestris, executing Ed for the crime of Human Transmutation is no longer legally possible. Hopefully, the judges will be convinced that we hold the moral high ground as well."

Mustang drummed his fingers against his knee. "And how are we doing this?"

Harris clasped his hands, for a moment, then tugged on his tie. "Ed has asked me not to disclose the details."

"_Hell_ no," Al snapped. "Why the hell would he want to keep it from us?"

By _us_, he really meant _me_.

"He wants you to hear it at the trial, from him. Because of the sensitivity of the issues which will be raised, and for his protection, I have already submitted a request for a closed court session. Nobody unapproved will be allowed in, and the details of testimony will be kept secret."

"There's no way Ed would do something like this," Winry said, and Alfons wasn't imagining the slight accusation in her tone. Evidently Harris noticed it as well, because his response was just a bit affronted.

"My first responsibility is to uphold my client's wishes."

"You can't think this is a good idea!" Al protested.

"What I think is immaterial. He is within his rights."

Al mumbled something about showing him 'rights', and Alfons couldn't help but say, "He's being a jerk. You tell him-"

Mustang overrode their muttering with more practical issues. "Just _how much_ is he planning on disclosing? If the former head of state is going to be denounced as a homunculus, I had better know about it first."

"No more than necessary," Harris said. "We have no intention of discussing the politics of that time, and the homunculi would just complicate issues."

"So what _can_ we do?" Winry asked.

Al had fallen silent again, and when Alfons glanced in his direction, he did a double take. Al looked positively crushed, though he was doing his best to hide it.

Alfons felt a moment of pity for him. It was obvious he idolised Edward, but he hadn't seen his brother in years. He couldn't understand why Edward would do something like this, whereas Alfons was tiredly unsurprised at the stunt.

Later, he found Winry in the kitchen having a late-night snack. He invited himself to participate, and after a few minutes of companionable silence, raised the issue.

"Don't you think Al seems kind of depressed lately?" he asked over a piece of chocolate cake. Winry was drinking heated milk with molasses out of a mug. At his question, she set it down, cupped in her hands, and sighed.

"I don't even know anymore," she said. "He's made it pretty clear he doesn't trust us nosing around in his business."

"But I thought you all were best friends from long ago," Alfons protested. To him, they all seemed to know each other very well.

"Al hasn't forgiven us – me especially – for believing Ed died," Winry said quietly, looking into her cup. "I tried to move on because if there's one thing I learned from everything Ed and Al went through, it's that holding on too tightly can lead to disaster." She looked up at Alfons. "I'm so glad he's back," she said fervently. "I'm _glad_ to be proven wrong. But there's always a price to pay, isn't there?" She waved her hands around, indicating the whole mess they were currently embroiled in.

Despite himself, Alfons could see her point. Right now, Edward was no happier than he had been in Alfons' world.

"Do you think Ed could have lived happily in your world?" Winry asked, the question loud in the silence, despite the softness of her tone.

Alfons shrugged. "He wouldn't try." His thoughts took a bleak turn, so he tried for distraction. Maybe this trial _would_ end well, despite all evidence to the contrary.

"Remember that time I reversed your wiring? I'm still embarrassed about that."

Winry laughed a bit, grateful for the change of topic. "I think that's your biggest obstacle to becoming a great automail engineer. You keep getting directions confused."

"If only that was my biggest problem," Alfons snorted. God, he wanted to build rockets again. He had a new design idea he was itching to run by Edward, but now wasn't the time. He wondered if the time would _ever_ come.

They talked for a bit more, but before they went to sleep, Alfons couldn't help but try a last time.

"Maybe you should talk to Al anyway? He's young-"

"Al has made it clear that he's nineteen years old, and thus in no need of coddling." Hurt softened Winry's words.

Al might claim to be nineteen, Alfons thought, but no matter how he looked, all he saw was a fifteen year old, in visage and in behavior.

When he saw the huddled form beneath the blankets on Al's bed, he decided he had to speak. He would have thought it was obvious, but how often had he himself tripped up on what should have been clear?

He sat down on his own bed, started pulling off his clothes, and said, "Edward thinks you know what happened to him."

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the lump stop pretending to be asleep, and roll over warily to look at him. Alfons continued, peeling off one sock after the other.

"He doesn't know you lost your memories, so he doesn't think he needs to tell you anything. This whole trial is for everybody else – Colonel Mustang, Winry. Them."

He pulled up his pajama pants, then the shirt. "And there's something else going on with him. You've seen it." Alfons rested closed fists on his knees, and swallowed. "Edward can't talk about these things," he said quietly. "He told them to me as stories, at first, because I didn't believe they were true. When it's a story, or when it's not real, it's not so bad, see? That is why he will not say anything now. Because when he goes to trial and tells his story, it's unreal to him. He is doing all this because he _does_ want us to know." Alfons tried very hard to believe it, too.

"Or maybe," Al said roughly from the other side of the room, "he just didn't want you to think he was crazy. And telling you stories was the only way to get somebody to listen."

Alfons sighed, and flopped down on his bed. Really, he wasn't sure why he bothered any more. He closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but what felt like hours later, he was still awake.

A single choice was hardly any choice at all, he thought. Edward had been so very lonely, and Alfons had been the only one willing to listen. It had been Alfons who pushed for more.

Edward had been afraid enough of being alone that he had been willing to forego returning to Amestris, just so Alfons would stay with him. Alfons rolled over, pressed his face into the pillow, and tried not to let his chest hurt. Tried not to cough.

Al hated him, Alfons was sure of it. What would Edward do, when he found out his little brother couldn't stand his lover? Edward had lived for Al far longer than he had known Alfons. There was hardly any competition.

Edward had said it long ago. Family was forever, and Edward relied on that connection to survive anything. Anything else was secondary. And transient.

* * *

This trial was nerve-wracking in ways the first hadn't been. Now, every bit of evidence presented by the prosecution was a nail in Edward's coffin, and Alfons' jaw hurt at the end of the day from clenching his teeth.

Maybe Edward's strategy _had_ been a good idea, because the amount of evidence racked up against him was frightening. He would be more convinced, though, if he had any actual clue what it _was_. Harris still wasn't talking.

Several residents of Resembool were called, and testified reluctantly to having seen the light of the transmutation from their windows, arcing from the Elric house and coloring the sky purple.

It was unquestionable that a transmutation had occurred that day.

After each person testified, Harris went up to cross-examine. He hardly bothered asking about the details of what had happened, instead asking about Edward himself. The witnesses were happy to answer.

"He's a good kid," a Mrs. Ryans said anxiously. "Even if he did this – I'm sure it was some sort of mistake…"

The prosecutor objected at the assumptions, and was sustained. Still, Harris made his point, over and over. Even when forced to testify against him, people remained Edward's staunch supporters.

How this would save Edward's life, Alfons wasn't sure. The judges did not seem the types to be impressed just by how _nice_ Edward was. But whenever he looked at Edward, which was often, Edward seemed more confident than Alfons had seen him in a while. He was alert, made an effort to look towards people speaking. He walked with more confidence, too, and Alfons wasn't sure how to feel about Edward being blind long enough to get used to it.

But if Edward's fears proved to be founded, and he remained blind for the rest of his life, this was a positive development. As long as Edward was happy, Alfons would be, too. No matter how much it might hurt.

During his evening visit, Edward seemed inclined to be affectionate. He sidled up to Alfons and brushed shoulders with him, sat closer than usual on the sofa and begged to be read to. Since Mustang was around, and radiated general disapproval in Alfons' direction, he felt distinctly uncomfortable at the attention. Even worse, he couldn't help but wonder if it didn't have something to do with the fact that Al had been sent on errands by Harris, and wouldn't be making it today. He really didn't want to see a correlation, but couldn't help it.

He tried to ask Edward about his plans, why he wouldn't share them, but Edward was evasive. Alfons was pretty sure that Edward was taking advantage of their soft-heartedness, and as he was leaving, told Edward so.

"I would probably spend fewer nights up worrying if I knew what you planned to do," he said, feeling bad about the guilt-trip, but sometimes that was the only thing that _worked_. Edward sighed heavily, and visibly steeled himself.

"When you know, you'll also know why it has to be this way."

The guards were getting impatient, it was time to leave. Edward, sensing his stubbornness, hugged him swiftly and whispered _mein Schatz_ in his ear. Alfons felt a rush of heat, enough to keep him from resisting as he was led out. Edward knew how to manipulate him, too, he thought as he looked back at the door he had exited.

He didn't _quite_ rely on Edward's assurances, he thought as he made his way out. But Harris thought there was a chance, and he certainly trusted Harris – maybe more than he should.

At night, he distracted himself by staying up to draw wavery rocket schematics. He still wasn't used to being left-handed (though technically it was his right hand), and his writing was far from up to par. His mother would have despaired of his penmanship.

* * *

The next day in court, Edward was far more attentive than usual. He didn't even seem to mind that the first of the witnesses of the day could testify that Al had most definitely appeared to be an alchemical construct. Alfons supposed it was good that Edward was more cheerful, but he didn't know why that should be, which worried him. He resolved to ask Edward about it that evening. Edward's coping mechanisms tended to be, overall, unhealthy.

The moment he stepped into the apartment Edward barreled into him, almost knocking him over. He had barely gotten out a startled "What-" before his head was yanked down and Edward's lips pressed against his.

Right in front of the guards and _everybody_. And Al, who was coming in after him.

Before he could panic over whether or not Edward had plans to use his tongue as well and what he would do if so, Edward had let go and stood grinning up at him, the thumb of his flesh hand resting on Alfons' cheek and fingers curving down his neck.

Alfons met his eyes, focused gold burning into his own.

"Edward?" he breathed, hardly daring to believe. Edward's grin widened. His eyes dropped to Alfons lips for a second, then flicked back up.

"You can _see_…"

But Edward had wriggled away from him, and now threw his arms around a surprised Al, enfolding him in a bone-crushing hug. Then Edward let go and just looked at him, drinking in his image. Edward's hands cupped his face, then dropped to his shoulders, and Alfons' breath came short at the sight. For one moment, there was perfect joy on Edward's face. Even if everything went wrong, he would know that for this moment, Edward had been truly happy. And he knew, then, that Edward could never have been so happy in his world. Every smile he had ever seen on Edward's face was a pale shadow of this one.

"_Al_," Edward said. "You… you look just like I remember…."

Judging by the tightening of Al's jaw, it was the wrong thing to say.

Please let it not go wrong, Alfons prayed. Not this time.

Confusion began to take over Edward's expression. "Al," he began hesitantly, "you look… really young. What-"

Al shoved him away violently. "You mean," he spat, "you _didn't notice_ my voice is only changing now?"

Crap. Alfons bit his lip.

"I," Edward said in a small voice, "I didn't think… you sounded the same for so many years, I didn't…" His voice died.

"Damn it, Brother," Al said, his fists clenched at his sides, eyes hidden by dirty blond bangs. "Of _course_ I look like you remember! That's how you transmuted me!" Edward's eyes widened as the implications set in, but Al wasn't finished. "And apparently, you remembered me _ten years old_."

The one thing Edward had been so proud of, Alfons thought, as he watched Edward shake wordlessly. He ached to touch him, to comfort him, but there was nothing he could do. Not when it came to Al.

"I should have been _him_!" Al said, gesturing towards Alfons, who was now the target of the gazes of everybody in the room. "And you're _fucking_ him!"

Not again, not this. Edward's eyes darted between the two of them, and from his pallor, Alfons could tell he was seeing every single similarity and then some.

_I'm not him_, Alfons wanted to shout. He had never been Edward's brother, and never would be. That had to count.

But Mustang was there, and watching him, and he couldn't say it. Because if he loved Edward, shouldn't he do the right thing for him? Alfons was far from being impartial.

Now was Edward's time to speak up in his defense, but judging by the paralyzed look on his face, he wouldn't. It wasn't even _about_ Edward, Alfons thought. It was about him and Al, and Alfons' right to a place in this world.

Al didn't _deserve_ Edward's devotion, and at that, a hard coil of anger began spreading through him. "Maybe it's not about you," he said, his vision narrowed to Al's face, so like and unlike his own. "Maybe Edward loves me _in spite_ of the fact that we look alike, not because of it."

"I spent four years searching for him," Al said, tears standing in his eyes. "Only to find that he's _replaced_ me, and now he's sleeping with the replacement!"

"I didn't-" Edward began.

Al hardly noticed. "Go on, Alfons," he spat. "Tell me there's nothing wrong with this picture. Tell me how you rationalize your relationship."

_We're not identical I'm not his brother he never loved us the same way he wants us both how could one of us ever replace the other-_

Instead, he snarled- "Congratulations for ruining the one thing I managed to keep Edward from feeling guilty about. I would have expected you to want him to be _happy_-"

"You don't even belong in this world!" Al cried. "It's _perverted_, that two of the same person exist in one place-"

"We _aren't that similar_!" Alfons shouted back. "Your eyes-"

"You can't prove we wouldn't have looked the same if my body had returned-"

"_Your eyes were never blue_!" Alfons pointed an accusing finger. "We can't have the same DNA, my parents weren't doubles of yours-"

"It doesn't make any sense anyway!" Al shrieked. "And this doesn't matter, because the point is that he doesn't need another brother!"

"He doesn't HAVE another brother!" Alfons dragged air into his lungs, and bellowed, "_Because his brother is YOU_!" He was forced to pause and wheeze for a moment. Al just stared at him big-eyed, so he plowed ahead, despite the remembered hurt it brought back. "He wouldn't shut up about you. He was willing to risk death to get back to you." Alfons, alone, had never been enough.

But that didn't mean Edward didn't want him in his life.

"Do you really think your brother is so shallow to care for me only because of my looks? Or to forget about you once he encountered somebody who looks similar?"

From the almost fearful look on Al's face, Alfons was making an impression. Al wanted so badly to believe he was still significant to Edward.

Seeming to reach some sort of conclusion, Al's shoulders slumped and he dropped his gaze, suddenly tiny in his black outfit. The victory was empty and meaningless, because it was no victory at all. While Al was unhappy, Edward would never be content.

Edward.

Alfons looked around, the realization dawning that they had just said all that _right in front of him_, and from the look on Edward's face, he wasn't happy. He scuffed his foot against the floor, clutched his automail arm in his other hand. "I thought you two would _like_ each other," he said. "I thought... maybe, for once, I had gotten everything right." He looked up at the two of them, and his smile was the sad, familiar one that Alfons had seen so many times. "Figures."

Al swiped the heel of his hand against his eyes. "You made my body _perfect_, Brother," he said. "Nobody else could have done it half as well. Nobody else could have done it at _all_."

Edward shifted from foot to foot, then swallowed. "I'm really tired," he said unconvincingly. He faked a yawn. "I think I'll turn in early."

Alfons found himself exchanging a panicked look with Al. If Edward wanted him to go, he would, but he wanted to stay. So very, very badly.

Edward vanished in the direction of his room, leaving Al and Alfons with little choice.

"I'll talk to him," Mustang said softly. "He expects me to bother him."

Hearing that, Al ducked out quickly, meeting nobody's eyes. Alfons hesitated, suspicious. He trusted Mustang to look out for Edward, but he couldn't forget that Mustang was against their relationship.

Mustang rolled his eye and sighed. "Wipe that suspicious look off your face," he told Alfons. "Now is hardly the time to be territorial."

"I'm not-" Alfons spluttered incoherently at his retreating back, which did not affect Mustang in the least. He strode through the short hall, bootheels momentarily muffled on the carpet, to knock at the door to Edward's room.

"Fullmetal, I'm coming in."

"No." Edward's voice came muffled. "I'm sleeping, bug off."

"Wonderful," said Mustang, and entered.

Alfons forced himself to turn away and walk out, despite how much he wanted to stay and eavesdrop. He had done his damage for the day; now it was somebody else's turn to fix things up.

Outside, he found himself standing for a few minutes, not yet ready to head back. The surroundings were already as familiar to him as Munich had been. He had passed by these shops a hundred times. He knew the regular protesters on sight, and now nodded to some of them. In the muddy snow by the wall, green shoots were starting to poke through.

What a long winter it had been.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and started walking. A long winter, and it wasn't over yet. He kicked at a pile of snow and thought about how much simpler everything had been in Germany. What would his life have been like if he hadn't believed Edward, encouraged him to find a way home? What would Edward's life have been like?

Enough. It was pointless to wonder what could have been. He straightened his back, though kept his hands in his pockets and his shoulders a bit hunched against the wind.

Anyway, he thought, watching the street lamps come on, he might as well admit to himself. He had been happier in America than he had ever been in Germany.

* * *

At Gracia's, he entertained the thought of avoiding everybody and immersing himself in a book in his room, childish though it might be.

The only problem with that plan was that the door wouldn't open. Perplexed, he tugged at the handle and tried shoving, but it remained immobile. Thinking it might have gotten jammed, he braced his shoulder against it and pushed.

"Al closed it with alchemy."

Alfons turned to the source of the whisper, and found Elysia standing at her door. From the way her hair was mussed, he had woken her up.

"He was having a temper tantrum," she added. "Mom never lets _me_ do things like that."

Alfons sighed and ran his fingers through his hair, leaving it standing on end. He looked at the door, but the heavy wood did not seem any closer to moving.

"I'm sorry I woke you up," he said. "I'll just… go downstairs and read." He remembered that all his books were in his room. Great. "Or not read."

There was a crackle of electricity, and then the door beside him swung open. Alfons looked suspiciously at the darkness inside, and wondered if Al was lying in wait to punch him.

A quick glance across the hall showed that Elysia had vanished back into her room. Nothing for it. Alfons stepped in, but couldn't make out much in the darkness.

"Al?" he murmured.

There was no answer. Valiantly, Alfons tried again, giving voice to concern for Edward. "I'm thinking maybe we should let up on Edward a bit about the trial strategy. He's probably going to be shutting down anyway, now, we won't get anywhere."

Still no response. Alfons gave up.

* * *

The calling of witnesses the next day was delayed by a discussion of Edward's miraculously restored sight. Roscoe, ever the opportunist, claimed that this was yet another example of Human Transmutation, happening right under the noses of the justice system. However, even the judges had to scoff at that, because with Edward under a twenty-four-hour per day guard, he could have hardly pulled off such a transmutation unnoticed.

"However," said Justice Castillo, "this does raise the question of whether Mr. Elric's alchemical abilities were similarly restored."

Alfons' heart leaped in joy, but plummeted almost immediately when he saw Edward's face. He didn't even have to listen to Harris, who had stood up to explain-

"Despite what one might think, there is no correlation between Edward's past blindness and his inability to do alchemy. We are prepared to present Dr. Mannheim as an expert witness to this effect."

After some discussion the court agreed, but Alfons had basically stopped listening by then. He couldn't believe that he hadn't even thought of Edward's alchemy when he had announced that his sight was back – though, given the fight immediately afterwards, maybe that wasn't so surprising. It was difficult to mourn something he had never really experienced. True, he had seen the array, but that wasn't like the everyday reality Edward had described, where he could fix anything from a broken glass to a broken car.

_I love you anyway_, he thought at Edward. As if that would make a difference. At least, Edward had his automail now, and his family, and his world. Maybe it was a fair trade for alchemy. Equivalent.

Meanwhile, the doctor (who was a decent amateur alchemist, not state certified) explained that Edward's blindness hadn't followed the patterns of alchemy-related injury as she had encountered it. Furthermore, she opined, with such a severe case of burnout as he was exhibiting, his ability to use alchemy might be damaged forever. Certainly, he was no greater a risk now than he had been before.

He didn't look like much of a risk, even more slumped and dejected than he had been the previous day in court. Though, Alfons thought privately, Edward _was_ more of a risk, now. With his sight restored, so were his abilities at hand-to-hand combat.

At one point, somebody muttered, loud enough for everyone to hear – "if he could do alchemy, why the hell would he still _be_ here?", which Alfons thought probably helped their case. Nobody really thought that Edward would remain in custody if he could escape.

Either way, the court accepted the testimony, and pronounced that Edward's house arrest would continue. The prosecution wasn't happy.

That business over with, they finally got on with the day's real agenda – bringing Al to the witness stand. Alfons was surprised, but from a quick glance at the faces of the few people in the courtroom, he was the only one. Left out of the loop again.

But it wasn't just him, he saw, when he looked forward again. Edward was tugging urgently at Harris' sleeve, and murmuring unhappily. Harris ignored him.

The prosecutor started with routine questions. He had Al state his name, his relation to Edward, and swear to tell the truth.

"Now," said Roscoe, "I would like to discuss with you the time you were trapped in the armor."

Al's jaw tightened, but he didn't say anything.

Roscoe waited another beat, to see if Al would speak, then continued. "Could you explain, as clearly as possible, the nature of the transmutation by which you became a suit of armor?"

Alfons saw immediately where this line of questioning was going. Even though the prosecutor would no doubt bring alchemists to testify that there was Human Transmutation involved, hearing it from Al himself would carry more weight. Soul transmutation was uncommon enough to be unknown to most lay-alchemists, according to Mustang.

"I was not responsible for the transmutation." Al was speaking, his voice tight, his words carefully chosen not to incriminate, despite the fact that Edward had already declared his guilt. "I have nothing to say about it."

"As the subject of the transmutation, surely you can enlighten us."

"Objection!"

"Overruled. This testimony is significant." The judges were intent, hanging on Al's answer.

Al bit his lip. His eyes flicked to Edward, and Alfons understood. There _was_ no information to disclose. But Al knew enough to do damage, to reveal alchemy which should never be common knowledge. Al had to stay silent, which left him with only one option, and Alfons saw him reach that conclusion. Alfons had a sudden awful suspicion that nobody had told Edward beforehand, but it was too late now. Al squared his shoulders, looked straight ahead, and spoke stiffly.

"I have no memory of the transmutation or its results. It's common knowledge that I spent the last four years trying to recover those memories. I know nothing."

Roscoe looked disappointed, and opened his mouth to maybe ask something else, but was forestalled by Edward, who was on his feet. Suspicion confirmed: he had no clue. Alfons put his face in his hands.

"What the hell are you talking about?" Edward shouted. His guards tried to force him back into his seat, but he wouldn't be moved. "That's not true! _Al_!"

"Order in the courtroom," Justice Karelin said shortly. "Mr. Elric, return to your seat."

With some coaxing from Harris, Edward sat down slowly, his eyes fixed on Al's face. Waiting, Alfons knew, for some sign that Al was bluffing.

"Thank you," said Justice Karelin. "Mr. Roscoe, can you confirm the witness' claim of amnesia?"

After a moment of hesitation, Roscoe said, "I have no official knowledge either way, but it would be consistent with what I know about Alphonse Elric."

Edward was tugging insistently at Harris' sleeve, murmuring at him. Harris shook his head, but that only made Edward's voice grow louder.

"However," Roscoe continued, turning back to Al, "even if you have no memories of the time you spent in the armor, what can you tell us about the day of the transmutation?"

"Why didn't anyone _tell_ me?" Edward's words were clearly audible.

"Silence from the defendant," Justice Castillo said, tapping her fingers in impatience.

Harris quieted him again, as Al spoke.

"I have no memories of that day," he said.

"Surely you can remember the days leading up to it. We have heard testimonies of a great transmutation which had occurred. Such alchemy is not conceived in a moment."

"As far as I can remember, we hadn't planned anything in particular, we were just studying my father's old books-" To Alfons, it was clear that the answer was coached, Al knew what he was doing. Edward cut in again anyway.

"This is _bullshit_!" he snarled. "Al, you gotta remember!"

"Silence!" said Justice Castillo. "This is your last warning!"

"_Fuck you!_" Edward struggled to his feet, ignoring Harris' objections at his side. "Al! Look at me, Al-" A guard attempted to force him into his seat, and Edward punched him in the face. Alfons leapt to his feet at that, but could do nothing as guards piled onto Edward, who fought as they bore him down, and yelled for Al even as they dragged him out of the courtroom.

"We will adjourn for the day," Justice Castillo said, and shook her head.

Quiet echoed through the room as Alfons tried to pull his wits together. Nobody was available to help; Mustang looked grim, and Winry was surreptitiously wiping at her eyes. Other people, the ones Alfons didn't know and some he did, filed out of the courtroom wordlessly. Al had left the witness stand, but stood frozen, staring blankly at where Edward had so recently sat.

Mustang strode over to where Harris was cramming his papers into his briefcase heedless of the creases that would surely result.

"Ed should have known," he snapped.

"I thought you had told him," Harris retorted, distracted. "I didn't consider-"

"I thought Al would!"

Both of them paused to shoot Al slightly accusing glances before Harris rushed after the guards who had taken Edward. Alfons wanted to follow, but knew that now wasn't the time.

"This is ridiculous," Mustang muttered.

Bailiffs were clearing the room, so Alfons headed to the exit on leaden feet, joining Mustang and Winry. Outside, the sun was incongruously bright, and the breeze had a hint of warmth to it. Alert reporters, having gotten wind of something happening were closing in, but Alfons ignored them. He could think of nothing but the look on Edward's face, a blow too soon after his discovery of Al and Alfons' mutual dislike of each other. He _should_ have told Edward, or at least made sure that he knew.

Nothing was going right. But then, Edward would say that nothing in his life _ever_ went right, and Alfons was starting to believe it. Damn it, what _was_ Edward's plan? How could he hope to beat this? How many more blows could he take before he lost the will to fight?

Something made him turn back, and he saw Al standing in the doorway, looking dazed. Al met his eyes – a startling occurrence in and of itself – and took a few steps forward. Alfons watched warily.

"I panicked," Al said. "I couldn't think of anything else to say. I _can't_ testify against him. I – I can't let them use something I said to hurt him. I just wanted to get away."

"I know," Alfons said, uncertain what exactly Al expected of him. "I couldn't think of an alternative, either. But you should have told him earlier."

"Did you see his face?" Al asked, as if Alfons had seen something other than the pain clearly written on Edward's features. "I wasn't going to tell him about the memories. Not ever. He'd have been happier not knowing."

"It would have come out eventually," Alfons felt compelled to say, unsure if he was being at all reassuring.

"Whatever." Al shoved his hands in his pockets and pushed past Alfons. His ponytail bounced dejectedly with each step down from the courthouse.

* * *

The only bit of news they received that day was when Harris showed up to tell them that Edward was pretty torn up over the discovery, and was being uncooperative. As punishment for his behavior, he wasn't going to be allowed visitors that night or the next morning. Maybe longer. Gracia, perceiving the generally dejected mood, brought in takeout for dinner, which spared them all from cooking and cleanup.

"Maybe you can get in for an emergency automail tune-up?" Al suggested to Winry after they had all retired to the living room. They had put up a short pretense of reading, but none of them felt like it.

Winry closed her book with visible relief and shook her head. "It's too convenient. There's no way they'd buy it."

"What if Brother had some sort of accident?"

Winry's brows drew together, and some of the openness left her posture. "Al, this sounds like another one of your… really bad ideas," she said bluntly.

Alfons flinched, expecting an outburst which didn't come. Al just shook his head and pulled his knees to his chest, socked toes digging into the sofa cushion.

"I know," he said. "I just… can't stand leaving him there alone. I have to talk to him."

Winry shot Alfons an incredulous look, to which he shrugged. He hadn't been expecting the sudden change of heart, but he couldn't deny that it was welcome.

"Maybe we'll be able to see him tomorrow evening," Winry suggested. "If he behaves himself."

They spent the rest of the hours until bedtime poring over an atlas, wondering gloomily where they could relocate to.

* * *

The next day, Ed stayed in bed. Harris showed up alone in the courtroom, and was forced to announce that Ed was incapable of appearing before the court. He was distressed, Harris explained, over the revelation of his brother's amnesia. It was Harris' humble opinion that until Ed was permitted to talk to his brother, he would have little incentive to do things like getting out of bed and eating.

For Al, it was something of a relief, because he _needed_ to see Ed, explain what was going on. Before Ed's return, he would have been confident that this was part of a stunt to buy time, but now Al wasn't so sure. The old Ed, the one he had known as a child, would definitely be capable of sulking dramatically in order to get what he wanted. But this new Ed was so very different.

He stole a glance at Alfons out of the corner of his eye, which confirmed his suspicions. From the way Alfons was chewing his lip, he very much believed that Harris was describing a genuine reaction, or at least that there was a grain of truth in it. Al tried, and mostly failed, to imagine his brother shutting down, curling up in bed and waiting to be rescued. And yet, Alfons hadn't known any other Ed, he thought.

He could hear the judges agreeing to Harris' request, but Al was still thinking about Alfons. He thought about Alfons often, since that (oh god) argument they had had. He had to think, because most of the time he wasn't up to actually talking to him. The right thing to do, of course, would be to just say, I'm sorry, I was a bastard to you. But most days he could hardly bear to look himself in the eye, much less anybody else, so the words went unsaid.

So very much went unsaid.

A meeting with Ed was set for the afternoon, and Al thought hard about what he would say, what he would think. He wanted to do what was _right_ for Ed, for once, since he had fucked up colossally so far. Since Alfons appeared to be right for Ed, he would have to accept that, or just make peace with that. Or accept that it was Ed's decision to make.

There were several hours until he was supposed to show up at the prison, so Al slunk out of the house, and made his way to Circle Park. He left his – Ed's – _his_ red coat behind, wearing a nondescript brown jacket over plain black pants. Nobody recognized him among the throngs that still filled the park, and he was happy with that. Among the protesters he could see people strolling (though he wasn't sure what attraction the trampled, muddy paths held), walking their dogs, chatting. He wished he had somebody to talk to. But who could he ask? He had spent the last four years searching for Ed, not pursuing friendships. He had fantasized about Ed's return in great detail, but had no idea what to do once his plans had been thoroughly wrecked. (He knew, now, they had never had a chance).

He was very used to not trusting others with his thoughts. Ed probably wouldn't be very pleased with how he had turned out.

Al sank down on a bench, which promptly began soaking the seat of his pants. He should have moved, but he couldn't muster the energy to. It was just damp; he had been wetter.

He hadn't expected Ed to fall in love with another guy. Not that it bothered him so much in principle, but it was just one more place where his dreams of the future didn't mesh with reality. He'd probably never be an uncle. He hadn't spent much time thinking about being an uncle, but now he felt a sense of loss. A bit of a waste of good genetic material, too.

But, he corrected himself quickly, Ed was happy, which was more important. And Alfons was….

Alfons was hopelessly in love. Enough that he had given up his entire world to be with Ed. He was kind and devoted and decently intelligent. He appeared to be used to countering Ed's tendencies to go on guilt trips.

When he tried to be unbiased about it, he could admit that there was a lot about Alfons that he would probably approve of in Ed's potential mate. Somebody who could take care of Ed when Al wasn't around to do it.

And just as he was starting to feel marginally more cheerful about the whole thing, his mind spiraled back to the fact that he and Alfons looked alike. More alike than Ed's brother and lover should be.

Even if he tried to make himself accept it, there was a curling unease inside his stomach that he couldn't escape. He wished he could, because he _wanted_ this feeling to go away. He wanted to be content and happy with his life, happy for his brother.

Maybe if he pretended hard enough, he could convince himself one day. Because he would have to pretend; he couldn't burden his brother with this.

Al glanced at his watch – a plain wristwatch, no pocketwatches for him – and saw there was still time. He would eat something, he decided. Throughout the quick meal, counting down the hours until the appointed time, he reminded himself that he would do the right thing.

* * *

Then he was standing in front of Ed's prison, and he forced his thoughts to silence. It was time to put them into action.

Ed had been waiting for him. His brother, who was now coming towards him with sharp, jerky footsteps, looked like he hadn't slept a wink. His hair was stringy and dishevelled, eyes bloodshot in a face that was drooping around the edges.

"Not here," he said as Al was opening his mouth to speak. Ed went to take him by the wrist, to lead Al to his room at the back, but aborted the movement at the last minute. Instead, he just held his arms close to his own body, and Al followed silently.

How quickly they had gotten used to Ed seeing again, he thought, as he regarded Ed's stiff back.

Ed pushed the latchless door closed behind them, and gestured for Al to sit on the bed. There was nowhere else to sit, anyway. Al hesitated briefly at the rumpled state of it, couldn't help but think of his brother and Alfons–

He dropped to the cheap sheets, hands folded in his lap in a pretense of calm. Ed should have sat down next to him, but started pacing back and forth instead. Silence was heavy between them, and Al didn't know how to break it. Apologizing to Ed should be as natural as breathing, calming his brother should be second nature, but he didn't know how, anymore.

"I'm sorry," Ed said, his voice uncharacteristically meek. He stopped before Al, but wouldn't raise his head, and his hands clenched at his sides.

"You don't need to be," Al burst out, because this he could deal with, this he could fix. "Brother, I should have told you the truth-"

"You were trying to protect me," Ed said, which made Al lose his train of thought in wonder that his brother knew him so well, remorse that he couldn't reciprocate.

He answered anyway. "Of course I was!" He still didn't stand up, but his eyes were trained on Ed's face, his entire body quivering with the intensity.

Ed didn't seem to be hearing him. "I have to fix it," he said. The resolve gave him courage to look up, meet Al's eyes. Al's breath caught at the burning intensity of them, and he knew this was what Ed had been like all those years ago, this was the fire that had nearly consumed both of them.

In a voice close to a whisper, Ed continued. "I think I can do it. I had to have you come."

Do it. "You can do alchemy again?" Al breathed, and was terrified at his brother's imperceptible nod. If Ed could do alchemy, there was nothing to stop him from-

"I can't send Alfons back." His brother was pacing again, flesh fingers buried in his hair, agitated. "I don't think he would survive. I definitely wouldn't." He turned, nearly stumbling.

If Alfons could survive, Al knew, Ed would have done it. In that little concrete room, with his brother before him, Al felt like he was drowning. How had he ever let Ed decide to 'fix' things, all those years ago? How heartless had he been, how selfish, to watch Ed tear himself apart day after day, chasing a hopeless goal?

"But I can fix your memories." Ed was watching him now, hopeful, looking for a sign. Waiting for Al to say it was okay. "I should have known, this is why I survived. So I could complete the transmutation."

"No," Al said, stood up, and crossed his arms over his chest. "You survived so I would have a brother again. You're not sacrificing yourself." He had to be strong, and not allow his quivering knees to buckle. Had to be the brother he was meant to be.

But Ed was shaking his head. His left hand wrapped around his automail wrist, probably an unconscious gesture. "It's too late, Al," he said hoarsely. "I want it to mean something, at least." He laughed, a grating, raspy sound. "Alfons will never forgive me."

"_I'll_ never forgive you," Al snapped. _What was too late_? "If you're talking about losing this damned trial –" And what was the strategy, what was Ed's idea if he hardly wanted to try at all? But he couldn't badger now, not when Ed was talking like this.

"The trial doesn't matter anymore. It can't change the outcome. That's why I have to do this."

Al grabbed him by the shoulders, the metal unyielding and uncomfortable under his hand, and shook his brother. Ed was stronger than he had expected, and Al realized from the look on his face that he wasn't used to Al being shorter than him.

Yet another way in which Al wasn't who he was supposed to be, but he didn't care.

"You're a goddamned idiot," he hissed. "Don't you _dare_ try alchemy on me-" and he saw, _saw_ the tumbling of gears in Ed's mind, saw Ed conclude that it was because Al no longer trusted him to get a transmutation right, and couldn't continue the sentence, his throat choked with horror.

He understood then that Alfons had been right; there were very few things Ed didn't feel guilty about.

He let go, slowly, of his brother's shoulders, and Ed just stood there. Al didn't know what to say. Didn't know what the old him would have said, but the old him had failed to save his brother.

"I'm so tired of fucking up." Ed was looking at the floor, again. "I'll never make things right, and I'm sorry, Al, I'm sorry. I fucked up your life, and I fucked up your memories, and I fucked up Alfons' life…. I'll fix it. I'll give whatever it takes. I'm not afraid."

He looked terrified.

"What," Al said bitterly, "you think you're the only one who fucked up with alchemy? You want to talk about screwing me over?" Maybe it was an Elric thing, to hurt their brothers.

Right then and there, Al told him everything. About the strange alchemy he could do with his soul, how sometimes he clapped and the world slid into focus. How he had pushed his soul into Ed, and felt his pain reverberating through his mind. How the attempt at communication in prison had ended in disaster.

"Wait, wait." Now Ed was the one holding on to him, his automail fingers bruising Al's arm. "The voice in prison, that was you? It was really you?"

Ed… should have been betrayed, should have been more bothered by Al's prying around in his mind. Maybe later he would be, but now Ed looked hopeful.

"Yeah," Al said around a dry tongue. Ed stared at him, fire banked in the golden eyes searching his face, before he dropped his hands in bemusement.

"That's…." Ed stepped away, lost in thought. "If that was _you_, then…" He looked back up, and sort of smiled. "It wasn't a hallucination."

Ed had thought it was a symptom of insanity. All this time.

"Leave my memories," he said. Best strike while the iron was hot, and Ed was listening. "We'll make new ones. We have a lifetime." He tried, very hard, to infuse his words with a conviction he himself didn't quite feel. He must have met with at least partial success, because Ed hadn't retreated, and was still considering.

"But if you don't remember," Ed hesitated, "how did you know where to look for me?"

"I didn't," Al replied. "I just believed you were still alive. I knew it."

Ed started pacing again, but this time his steps were wandering, and his gaze unfocused. Mostly, he looked confused, wrestling with his own thoughts. Al had to focus to keep himself still, and finally couldn't help but ask what Ed was thinking.

"If you had remembered what had happened that day," Ed said slowly, looking at Al as if for confirmation, "you might have been convinced I was dead."

_But what happened_, Al wanted to scream. He didn't, because he couldn't ruin this moment: when Ed was fighting with himself, trying to see Al's loss of memory as something positive, something he didn't have to feel guilty over.

No matter how much Al wanted those lost memories back, he would never say it. He would never ruin this.

This, and-

"And Alfons," he blurted, though it was out of the blue. "He makes you happy, right? He's good for you. Keep him."

It was the right thing to do, he knew. The hope that spread across Ed's face was worth it. Even if he lost his brother – but then, when Ed threw his arms around him in a tight hug – he sort of had him back. They would never go back to what they had been, who they had been, and for the first time Al wondered if that wasn't okay. If maybe they couldn't have something new, something better. Truly move forward, for once, instead of forever looking back.

"I'll win the trial," Ed said into his hair. "For you."

It was the plural you, Al would stake his life on it. Maybe, someday, he would get used to it.


	42. A Truth

YES THIS IS AN UPDATE.

So I'm going to do the whole "why this chapter is five years late" spiel right now and get it off my chest (and it's been so long, I guess you guys deserve a bit of an explanation...).

1. It's not exactly writer's block. It's that my writing muse turned into a drawing muse. I've improved a lot in drawing, but have been finding it pretty darn tough to write.

2. I'm an exchange student in South Korea right now. This eats up a LOT of my time and attention. I've gone from zero Korean to being able to hold basic conversations in like 4 months, which is pretty darn fast. Immersion courses work, in case any of you ever wondered.

3. At some point during the past year or so it hit me that I... kind of Do Not Like the ending of the FMA manga. The whole thing left me a bit unhappy about FMA in general, and probably didn't do much good to my muse. Also, I've fallen out of contact with a lot of FMA fandom friends who seem to be hanging elsewhere these days, and most of the people in all my old haunts seem to be writing about aspects of the fandom that I'm not quite so into.

4. Every so often I post about my musical - so yeah, the musical. We performed our 3rd musical about 8 months ago. It was an original anime production, a TON of work (we had to sew 50 costumes. I counted), and the final months of the musical are around when I first stopped writing regularly, because I just couldn't work it into my schedule. It came out pretty awesome, though, I think. Hopefully by next chapter there'll be a (subbed) download link, if anybody wants to see it.

5. I've started working on the story for an original webcomic. But it's slow going, especially because after being part of a fandom community, to suddenly write all by my lonesome is really different. So I've been trying to whip myself into writing, but since I don't have anybody to really get feedback from, it hasn't done much for my general writing muse. (actually, if any of you out there are interested in being my enablers, or just hearing about it in case it interests you, please drop me a line. Writing more will also mean more Mirrorworld faster! and I really want to get back into writing more...)

My excuses, you have seen them. Now about the end of Mirrorworld - part of the reason I waited so long to post is because I wanted to make sure I'd have some of the next chapter written before I posted this. It's usually easier for me to keep writing once I have something written. So the next chapter WILL come, it just might take some time. But it will. (actually it will probably be the last chapter; another reason I couldn't give up. Giving up two chapters from the end is _beyond_ pathetic).

Finally, I want to thank all of you. Everybody who left a comment, everybody who sent a message, everybody who expressed hope I'd continue this fic. Some days I would just look at those comments and remind myself that YES people still want to know how it ends. So even if it was tough, I made myself write another few sentences. I really hope this chapter won't disappoint. It's been so long, and I think my writing, and the way I build plot and view the world has changed - which will probably affect the way the ending will pan out, a little. Also, I feel like I'm a little rusty. So I hope you will be gentle with me. I'm going to do the best I can to end this properly, even though it's been so long, and even if the next chapter is as tough to write as this one was.

And, of course, thanks to Yixsh who stuck by me this whole time, and who helped me keep going, and is ever my faithful beta.

Please enjoy the chapter!

* * *

**A Truth**

Court resumed, and Edward was contrite. Alfons could tell because instead of his usual black-on-black, Edward had gotten a dark red button-down shirt from somewhere, and had glanced at Alfons several times to make sure he noticed.

Which he had. He could hardly _not_ notice it, especially when paired with his leather pants. He would have probably felt very guilty over being distracted by how nice Edward looked in red at a time like this if he hadn't known this was exactly what Edward wanted. Distraction had been on his mind when he had gotten dressed that morning.

But what Edward probably hadn't expected was for Alfons to feel impossibly sad, seeing him like this. Putting on pretty clothes to please Alfons because they couldn't get close enough for Edward to just apologize, and Alfons would smile, and that would be that.

Alfons told himself again that Al said Edward had promised they were going to win. He had no idea how, but he trusted Edward not to lie. And he should know what was up soon enough, because today was the first day of the defense.

Harris had been nervous all morning. Alfons had found him in the bathroom before the trial, leaning over a sink and looking slightly grey.

"This is going to be stuff of legends," he had said. "No matter the outcome." Alfons hadn't really known what to say, which was okay, because it didn't look like Harris needed much of an answer. He had straightened up, then, and added, "It's a shame the trial is closed."

Now, looking at Harris, Alfons could hardly tell his not-father had been so nervous earlier. The man sat quietly, hair combed and suit neat, and looked supremely confident.

Winry snaked her hand into Alfons', a sudden movement which nearly made him jump out of his skin in surprise. At his questioning look, she squeezed his hand, and looked determined. Alfons squeezed back.

"He promised we'd win," he whispered, and she nodded.

Harris addressed the court then, and explained that his intention was to prove, beyond any doubt, that though a heinous crime had been committed, under Amestrian law it was impossible to sentence Edward to death.

Alfons thought, even if Edward evaded the death penalty and was given a life sentence, it was only the beginning of more running, leaving yet another place he'd grown used to. Where once the thought would have terrified him, now all he felt was cold resignation. It was so much better than death, but….

The trial was under way.

"The defense would like to call an expert witness, Dr. Jeremiah Cole."

A slim, bespectacled man, clad in an expensive black suit beneath his lab coat, took the stand and was sworn in.

"Please state your credentials and field of expertise," Harris said.

"I graduated from Central School of Medicine seventeen years ago, completed a residency in surgery and a fellowship in trauma surgery. I have since worked in the trauma center at South Hill Medical Centre, and am now a surgeon in the First Military Hospital. I specialize in spinal injury."

"Thank you." Harris motioned, and two blown-up full color photos were brought in, exhibiting a shape familiar to Alfons: the large, vaguely eye-shaped scar which marked Edward's stomach and back. From the confused sounds around the courtroom, most people did not understand what they were seeing. When Alfons glanced aside, he saw Edward's back was rigid, but he was watching Harris unflinchingly.

"Can you please tell the court what this is a picture of?"

"A prominent scar which appears on the back and stomach of Mr. Elric. The scar is nearly identical on both sides of his body, as the pictures show."

"What can you tell us about this injury?"

"It appears to be due to penetrating trauma, perhaps caused by some large bladed object. Since the scar is slightly larger in the front, the weapon would have entered from the front of his body and exited at the back."

"Can you date this injury?"

"The appearance of the scar suggests that it is at least one to two years old."

Harris nodded, and at a sign from him, the photograph was replaced with an X-ray of Edward's torso. "Dr. Cole, please confirm for the court that this is an X-ray of the defendant."

"It is."

"What does this X-ray show?"

"We can clearly see marks of the injury on the bones, in a circular pattern on the lower part of his chest cavity. The blow shattered five ribs, here and here," he gestured with a pointer, "and severed the spinal cord. Several fragments of bone remain embedded in the surrounding organs, though they seem to be doing no damage. The bones are more opaque at the center of the injury."

"What would explain these findings?"

The doctor shook his head. "This is a highly unusual finding, one I am not familiar with. These are not typical findings when multiple bones are injured. I would have to make a more thorough examination."

"From the physical examination you conducted, can you give us any further information about the scar?"

"There appears to be a discoloration of the tissue beneath it, roughly corresponding to its external shape and the pattern of damage to the bones."

"Can you explain these phenomena?"

"No. I have never seen anything like this."

"If you were to receive a patient with the type of injuries that Mr. Elric seems to have sustained, how would you proceed with treatment?"

Dr. Cole shook his head again. "These injuries are incompatible with survival. We would give the best medical care possible, but not expect our patient to live."

Murmurs broke out, and Winry was squeezing Alfons' hand fit to crush. When he glanced aside, most people in his field of view looked confused; Mustang looked intent; Al looked horrified.

Alfons had the suspicion it would get worse. He had known about the injury, had heard about it from Edward's own lips, but seeing its effect spread out before him was frightening. He tried to catch Edward's eye, but Edward was still looking steadfastly forward.

Harris turned to Roscoe. "Your witness."

The prosecutor didn't seem to be entirely sure of what tack he should be pursuing, but questioned Dr. Cole anyway. He got him to admit that yes, there was a chance of survival, but it would probably require divine intervention. Yes, sometimes medical miracles happened. They released Dr. Cole, and Harris called in his next witness, a military doctor in charge of physically assessing soldiers' fitness.

She testified that Edward had been to her for a checkup approximately two months before his disappearance, and there had been no sign of an injury of that magnitude on him.

Might she have forgotten?

"Not something like _that_," she said. "And anyway, I was always careful with him. He was such a little guy, and the automail was too heavy for him."

Edward didn't react, though Winry made a small indignant sound next to Alfons.

The prosecution had no questions for the witness.

"For my next witness," Harris said, "I would like to call Professor Michael Doe of Central University."

The professor took the stand, and Alfons had a powerful moment of déjà-vu. He was the spitting image of Mikael Drechsler, Alfons' first physics teacher, from the stocky frame to the crooked nose. A bit older, though, which made sense considering how long had passed since Alfons had last seen him.

When he opened his mouth and greeted the court in English (Amestrian, Alfons reminded himself), Alfons berated himself for the sudden, bitter disappointment that stuck in his throat.

"Professor Doe. In the year 1914 you headed a project which investigated the effects of alchemy on the human brain, correct?"

"Yes."

"Could you please give us a quick summary of the objectives and results?"

"Objection!" Roscoe stated. "Irrelevant."

Harris looked to the judges, and said, "Your Honors, I intend to show that this study is extremely relevant to Mr. Elric's future verdict."

Alfons really, really did not like that word, verdict.

"Overruled," said Justice Castillo. "Continue, Mr. Harris."

"Thank you." He turned back to the professor, and repeated the question.

"The objective of the study was to examine the effects of the use of alchemy on brain activity. Using recently developed technology known as the electroencephalograph or EEG, the brain activity of alchemists was measured before, during and after the use of alchemy. It was discovered that the use of alchemy produced a spike in brain activity in the frontal-temporal regions which dissipated gradually over the following five to fifteen minutes. In frequent practitioners, dissipation time could reach up to half an hour."

"Thank you," Harris interjected when the professor paused for breath. "Can you confirm that the defendant, the Fullmetal Alchemist, was among your test subjects?"

"Yes."

Three large charts were brought in, printed lines zigzagging crazily across them. "Can you confirm that these charts are the defendant's, as measured during the study you conducted?"

"Yes."

"Could you please explain to the court why you did not use these results in your study?"

"His recordings were anomalous," the professor said. "Fullmetal's normal level of brain activity was far higher than anything we had measured. On the second chart, which was measured during use of alchemy, we can clearly see that the level of brain activity was so high the machine found it difficult to measure. These results did not match the others, and were therefore shelved, and not included in the final statistics."

"What hypothesis did you reach concerning Mr. Elric's measurements?"

"At the time, machine malfunction was ruled out. We considered that it could be due to the Fullmetal Alchemist's extraordinary skill, combined with his young age."

"Thank you."

Roscoe looked supremely annoyed by the whole line of questioning, and even the judges showing signs of impatience. To Alfons, it wasn't immediately clear what this had to do with the trial, but he found it fascinating nonetheless. Fascinating, and slightly scary. He wondered if Ed's genius had anything to do with it, if his own, less interesting brain would yield similar results.

At Harris' request, yet another chart was brought in, and Roscoe leapt to his feet.

"This is ridiculous! Your Honors, I fail to see how continuing this tack will contribute to this trial. Its place is in a university lecture hall, not a courtroom!"

"It _is_ relevant, Your Honors," Harris said, and Alfons momentarily saw through the mask of calm. ""It stands to reason that evidence in a case as delicate as this one would be neither straightforward nor simple." Harris waited for a moment, then asked, "May I continue?"

"Continue," said Justice Tsamis. "But please reach your point."

Harris turned back to Professor Doe, who showed no sign of impatience at the many delays. "Professor, can you please tell the court what this graph represents?"

"It is the current reading of Mr. Elric's brain at rest, uninfluenced by use of alchemy." He paused, looked a bit awkward. "Of course there would be no alchemic influence, such a regrettable case of burnout…." He cleared his throat.

Harris appeared unperturbed, and Alfons remembered that Ed had his alchemy back, and had to resist the urge to grin like crazy.

"Please describe the difference between this recording and the ones from six years ago."

The professor settled back in his seat, his voice once again taking on a lecture-hall drone. "The spikes and valleys are far more agitated than they were, but the most marked difference is that there appears to be a decrease in brain activity between now and then. Where the electrical readings on his brain before were beyond any measure of ordinary, the current readings show an amount of activity still greater than normal, but not significantly so."

"Do you think there is a chance this is due to a malfunction in your machinery?"

"The machines were checked and the possibility of malfunction was eliminated."

"No further questions," Harris said to the court.

Roscoe's problem, they quickly saw, was that he wasn't entirely sure what Harris was trying to prove, and so found it difficult to counter Harris' defense. Instead, he picked on any point which had seemed important to Harris, to find weaknesses. He established that the EEG was still considered experimental technology, and that deciphering its readings was still in the early stages of research. However, Doe remained adamant that Harris' claims stood: the changes in the movement of electricity in Edward's brain, whatever they might signify, were accurate.

A recess was called at one o'clock, to everybody's relief. Alfons stood up and stretched, listening idly to the hum of conversation around him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Edward being led away to wherever they kept him when he wasn't appearing before the court. On an impulse, Alfons followed.

Nobody paid much attention to his exit, and he was relieved to find himself unchallenged as he walked the dark wood-panelled corridors. He was stopped by the first perimeter of guards, but some of them must have recognized him, because they patted him down to make sure he wasn't sneaking anything in, and let him through. Some of the others eyed him suspiciously, but didn't say anything. In front of a barred door he found the two guards who had been with Edward in the courtroom, and now realized that the one on the left was Cain's counterpart in this world. Maybe his luck would hold.

Alfons shifted from foot to foot, then took a few steps forward. "Can I see him?" he asked, trying to pitch his voice low. It echoed anyway.

The guards exchanged a glance. Alfons knew they weren't supposed to let him, but-

"Ten minutes," Cain decided. "Get in quickly, and be _quiet_, whatever you do."

Quiet. Alfons' face burned. For goodness' sake, what did they think he and Edward would get up to in _ten minutes_?

The other guard kept watch while Cain –Fury, Alfons remembered, undid the lock and let Alfons slip inside.

The room was small but relatively pleasant. Though the windows were barred, they let in great patches of sunlight, one of which fell squarely on top of Edward. It made his hair burn gold, lit up the shirt against skin which seemed less pale in this light.

"Alfons?" Edward looked up, astonished. Alfons all but ran to him, dropped to sit on the narrow bench and wrapped arms around him. Edward tried to hug him back in a clink of chains, unable to separate his hands enough to get them around Alfons' body.

Alfons leaned back, and traced his index finger along one manacle, warmed by Edward's flesh.

"You could take these off now, couldn't you?" he murmured, his fingers still playing with Edward's wrist. Edward wasn't truly captive; he could get free at any time. The thought was calming, exciting.

"Do you want me to?" Edward asked, a bit hesitant. Alfons looked up from his wrist to Edward's anxious face, and wrapped his hand around Edward's.

"It would be a stupid risk," he said. "But I know you _can_." He smiled, but Edward didn't return it.

"Alfons…"

"Put your arms around me," Alfons said. He pushed Edward's arms up, so Edward could loop them over his head. Which he did, though to Alfons he seemed a bit reluctant. Now, pressed together, he could feel the tension in Edward's frame. Alfons put one arm securely around his waist, fingers tangling in the maddening red fabric of Edward's shirt.

"Alfons," Edward tried again.

"I miss you," Alfons cut him off. He nuzzled Edward's neck, undid the top buttons of his shirt with the other hand. "I want you out of here. I want us to stop running."

Edward turned his head away, which could have been an evasive maneuvre, or giving Alfons more access to his neck. Alfons decided to pretend it was the latter and kissed him there, though the angle was a bit awkward.

"Don't," Edward murmured.

"I have new rocket schematics I want to show you," Alfons said into his hair. "I want to have lazy Sunday mornings again. I want to hear you complaining at night that my feet are cold."

A shiver went through Edward, and he tried to pull away from Alfons. The chain caught on his back, and Alfons helped disentangle him. He didn't like having Edward restrained.

"What if we _can't_ have that?" Edward snapped.

"And why can't we?"

Edward closed his mouth and looked miserable.

"I don't know if Harris told you," Alfons said, "but you're being an asshole about the secrecy thing." He couldn't really express in words how nervous he had been lately, how wound up. He didn't feel like trying, either.

"I'm sorry," Edward said, hands in his lap, eyes on his hands. That was all he said, no explanation, which would have been nice.

Alfons sighed.

"I'm really, really sorry."

It got repetitive, Alfons thought. He scratched at his neck, and shook his head. "Sometimes I don't know why I put up with you," he commented. He was unprepared for the way Edward jerked as if burned, to stare at Alfons with naked fear written across his face. Alfons' stomach twisted at the sight.

He lay a hand on Edward's knee, the automail hard under his fingers, but he couldn't reach the other knee from where he was. "Damn it, Edward, I didn't mean it like that and you know it."

Edward forced himself under control, wrested his expression back to neutral.

"Can't you just wait until the trial is over?" Edward asked. "You'll know everything. I'll, I'll tell you whatever you want, then. Just please, give me this time." He looked up at Alfons through long lashes.

And what could Alfons do? Edward was hurting, imprisoned, unhappy, and he had so much more reason to be miserable than Alfons did. So Alfons leaned forward and kissed him. It would have been nice had Edward responded.

"I wanted to make you happy," Edward said seriously.

"You still _can_," Alfons replied, exasperated. "You know, I used to think that I was going to die of consumption. Having you in my life made me _really happy_, even though I was afraid of what would happen. And look, it didn't even turn out so bad. Can't you at least _try_ to cheer up?"

Edward sighed and looked away. When he turned back to Alfons, he was making a visible effort to appear more cheerful, without flashing his fake grin. Good.

"Al says he wants us to stay together," Edward said, showing off his positive-thinking skills. Actually, Alfons hadn't gotten the impression Al had more than the barest tolerance for his and Edward's relationship, but Edward wouldn't make this sort of thing up.

"You should listen to him."

Edward cocked his head and debated with himself before speaking again. "Did he tell you about the soul alchemy? How he was… inside my head?"

"Sort of," Alfons said. Al hadn't said much about it, but he could extrapolate. The thought of alchemy being capable of that sort of thing was scary, but at least he knew that anything relating to soul alchemy was mostly unique to Al. He hoped, because he really didn't like that thought. He waited for Edward to continue.

"I keep wanting to ask what he saw there," Edward admitted. "But he hasn't said, and I'm not sure I _do _want to know."

"Whatever it was, he obviously loves you no less." If somebody had to go traipsing through Edward's mind, Al was probably the best choice. Much as sometimes he might wish he knew what Edward was thinking, he wouldn't want to be inside his thoughts.

"That's true, I guess." Edward shifted, and played with the chain between his wrists. "He's very different from how I remember him," he confessed in a whisper.

What was Alfons supposed to say? It wasn't often Edward talked about his problems. It was rather more uncomfortable than Alfons had expected, but this was a good thing. He just had to not muck it up, now.

"I think you're very different from how he remembers you, too. But you're still brothers."

"Da…" said Edward, drawing Alfons' attention to the fact that he had hardly spoken any Russian at all lately. That had to be a good sign.

There was a knock at the door, which made Edward turn to him, an eyebrow raised. "Why are the guards knocking?"

"I, uh." Alfons couldn't meet his eyes. "I think they think we're having sex."

"I see." Edward was smiling, Alfons could hear it in his voice. He probably found the whole thing _funny_. Human fingers suddenly buried in his hair, blunt fingernails against his scalp. "Silly," Edward said fondly, and Alfons thought that he might like to be called _schatz_ again some time.

The door opened, and Cain made a jerking movement with his head, gesturing for Alfons to scram. He looked profoundly relieved to find them both clothed.

As he left, Alfons called back daringly, "Bye, Ed," and dashed off before he could see the reaction. The short name felt strange on his tongue. It was what most everybody called Edward, though, so he might as well get used to it.

He hurried back past the guards into the courtroom, and did his best to ignore some of the stares leveled his way. There was no sign of support in Al's expression, but at the same time, he didn't look like he wanted to punch Alfons' lights out, so that was something.

"Did you get anything out of him?" Winry whispered. Alfons shook his head.

"But I'm still glad we talked," he said.

"Shhh," said Mustang. They were starting.

Harris wanted to call a Dr. Michelle Littlewood, who specialized in the care of coma patients, but the doctor was late. They spent half an hour waiting, while the judges looked dour and the people in the courtroom grew increasingly noisy, before somebody rushed in to say that she was detained by some medical emergency and wouldn't be able to come that day. The messenger would have been there earlier, but had spent nearly fifteen minutes arguing with the guards until they let him in.

The judges announced they would adjourn for the day.

Harris wasn't pleased. "I wanted her testimony to come when the information about the graphs was still fresh in everybody's mind. Damn it," he said to Mustang under his breath, before they all left the courtroom.

* * *

The next day everybody was on time, including the doctor, who apologized for the day before. Harris tried to gloss over it as much as possible, probably so as not to remind the judges of how annoyed they had been. Once he had established Dr. Littlewood's credentials, he asked her to please describe for the court the advances in understanding of comas with use of the EEG.

The doctor began with a brief description of her early work with coma patients and her more recent work with the EEG on healthy patients. Then she began her explanation.

"The EEG has given us a unique ability to understand what exactly has happened to people in a coma, and assess their chances of ever waking up. In the past, when brain damage was suffered, there was no way to truly assess the amount of damage sustained. The EEG, by measuring the amount of brain activity, can tell us if the person has a chance of recovery, or if the brain is simply too damaged to ever function normally again. In extreme cases, we have seen total death of the brain – when there is no recordable electric activity at all."

"Could you please explain the differences between the charts of healthy and brain damaged people?"

"Certainly. There is a computable average of brain activity seen in humans. Anything below that could be a sign of brain damage."

"Thank you." At a gesture of Harris', Edward's two charts were brought out. "These recordings belong to the defendant, Mr. Elric. The first was performed in the year 1915, the second several weeks ago. What conclusions can you draw from these recordings?"

"Mr. Elric seems to have suffered a dramatic decrease of brain activity. This implies that some parts of his brain are now completely non-functional."

Murmurs spread through the courtroom, and Alfons stiffened in his seat, staring at Edward. Here was one revelation that explained why Edward had been so tense lately. He had _holes_ in his brain. Oh _God_, how had he managed to keep this to himself so long? Alfons' hands itched to hold Edward, he needed to touch him and kiss him and reassure himself that Edward was still himself, still okay. He wished he could be angry that Edward hadn't told him, but it was sadly typical.

God, no _wonder_ Edward had seemed so off, what with losing focus all the time and speaking Russian and –

Ed, he reminded himself belatedly.

"From your examination of the defendant, can you hypothesize what might have caused this death of brain tissue?"

"I found no signs of head trauma, certainly not enough to cause this sort of damage. The simplest explanations would be extensive oxygen deprivation."

"Can you elaborate on the meaning of 'extensive'?"

Dr. Littlewood looked at the recordings, considering. "From an analysis of the difference between the levels of activity, I can say that on an average person, this amount of damage would have resulted in a permanent vegetative state. To subtract that much brain activity from a normal human brain would leave them basically non-functional at any level. Because Mr. Elric had an unnaturally high level of brain activity, even after this subtraction he is still capable of functioning. Whether or not he is truly functioning normally is beyond my area of expertise. A psychologist would probably have more to say on the subject."

Edward's brain was half as functional as it had been, and he was still a genius. As a teenager, he must have been frightening. Alfons slid down in his chair a little, and felt very stupid. He was so _normal_ next to Edward - and that was taking his body-reversal and the worms into account!

Out of the corner of his eye he caught a glimpse of Winry's pale face, and Mustang's set jaw. No wonder Edward hadn't wanted to deal with the repercussions of this. And it would only get worse, Alfons thought, because there were revelations yet to come.

"In your experience, how long would a person need to be deprived of oxygen for the brain to start dying, and for damage of this extent to occur?"

"After five minutes of oxygen deprivation, irreversible brain damage sets in."

"Is this amount of brain damage survivable?"

"Usually not, but Mr. Elric has evidently managed."

Roscoe spent longer on her than on any of the others. Her claims sounded fantastic, and he kept trying to weaken them in some way, but Dr. Littlewood refused to be swayed. The medical evidence spoke for itself, she said. One did not become a good doctor by ignoring what was in front of their face, even if it did not line up with other information. But she admitted it didn't make much sense.

Once she was dismissed, the judges called a recess, at Harris' request. After a brief discussion in chambers, the judges announced that court would be adjourned for the day, and reconvene the following day with Harris' next witness.

The sunlight was bright outside. Alfons stood blinking, waiting for his eyes to adjust, and reflected that he was no longer used to being out at these hours. The day stretched ahead, empty. He exchanged a glance with Winry, who shrugged.

Riza stepped up next to them, trim as always in her uniform. "Why don't you come along with me? Meet some of the people who have been fighting for us."

They didn't really have anything better to do with themselves, so Alfons shrugged and Winry agreed, and together with Al, they followed Riza to a military car.

After a short drive into a neighborhood Alfons was unfamiliar with, they got out of the car in front of a fancy building whose gate was guarded by soldiers marked with an affiliation that wasn't Mustang's. Alfons still didn't really follow which colors stood for who; he wasn't sure he ever would.

Mustang had arrived in a car ahead of them, and was waiting with several other soldiers. He looked unsurprised at them being there, but then, it generally took a lot to surprise him. A quick check to make inventory of their weapons, and the guards allowed them in. The hallway they entered was simple, but led into a large, fancy room lit by chandeliers. Most of the people milling around were in uniform. Alfons half expected to see waiters moving between people, but evidently it wasn't quite that kind of gathering.

"Hey Al," Winry murmured behind him, "think you can transmute a chandelier for my workroom? I'm sure Granny would love it."

Mustang was uninterested in silly things like chandeliers, and went to greet some of the men in the nearest group. Alfons thought he recognized one or two of them from the trial. Evidently some of them rated an invitation to the proceedings.

When Al and Winry were noticed, several men and women headed over to talk to them. Alfons tried to stick near, but a large, grizzled man bore down on him before he could move. He moved a bit like a soldier, but was wearing a tailored suit, with a tie pin to show his colors.

"Look what we have here!" he said, so enthusiastic that Alfons nearly checked behind him to see if there was something vastly interesting there. "You're the famous boyfriend, are you not?" He stuck out a hand expectantly.

"Er." Alfons shook his hand, the palm rough and callused. _The boyfriend_? Did _everybody_ call him that?

"Alfons, please meet Mr. John Storry of the Northern Democratic Unity," Riza said from behind him, nearly making Alfons jump again.

"Nice to meet you, sir," Alfons said. "Yes, I'm Edward's boyfriend." He sort of stumbled over the word 'boyfriend', but hoped he didn't sound too stupid.

"Mustang has talked of you," Mr. Storry said. (This was news to Alfons). "He's made all sorts of insinuations that you're an inventor of some sort. Are you also an alchemist, like Fullmetal?"

"No, I'm an engineer. But Edward is good at engineering, too. We have worked together on an invention, which…" he trailed off, unsure. He knew he wasn't supposed to bring up the aeroplanes, given the destruction they would undoubtedly be used for. But wasn't he here to show off a little, make connections?

Connections on his own merit, not just as Edward's boyfriend.

Mr. Storry was still looking at him expectantly, and Alfons tried belatedly to remember where the sentence had left off.

"I, well, it is early to talk of patenting inventions, don't you think? First we must clear Edward's name."

"Good man," said Storry. "It's good to know he is surrounded by people as loyal as you. "

Alfons noted that a few more people had joined them, creating a small group around him. He was sweating under his shirt, and hoped it wasn't visible. As Storry told the other people how nice Alfons was, it occurred to him that he was being buttered up, but the experience was novel enough for him not to mind. Being treated like somebody important was a nice change.

Already he was being offered a workshop in which to develop his prototypes.

"Won't Edward transmute them for me?" he wondered aloud, before he could consider that maybe he was being impolite, or – or –

"Of course, of course!" the man – Alfons really couldn't remember his name, he would have to ask Riza later – said after a slight pause. "But still, you'll need workspace. And of course, once you start production, it's unrealistic to expect Fullmetal to do all the work."

"I'm sure he _could_," Storry laughed, "but then what would all our wage-earners do?"

They didn't even know what he was building, Alfons thought, and already all these people wanted to sponsor him.

Not him; the Fullmetal Alchemist's boyfriend. His mood soured, and keeping the smile on his face became an effort. He tried not to think of it, which meant obviously that he could soon think of nothing else. Every time somebody greeted him, he thought of how Edward was not nearly so approachable, it made sense to go through him. Every time somebody inquired after his skills and research, he knew they assumed he had to be intelligent because Edward liked him. And even if the monetary investment washed out, he could see people thinking, at least they would have ingratiated themselves. Money wasn't everything.

Finally he had a few minutes to himself when the latest group wandered off. It was such a relief he wondered if he was above feigning a cough just to have an excuse to get out of there.

A glance at the clock showed that barely half an hour had passed, and Alfons almost groaned aloud. There was no way anybody else would want to leave yet….

"I want to get out of here," Al murmured suddenly from behind him.

Alfons turned to him. Al didn't look welcoming, but wasn't being overtly antagonistic.

"It's a bit much," Alfons agreed.

Al snorted. "The funniest part is that Brother wouldn't give any of these people the time of day."

Alfons looked over the room, remembered Germany. "I don't know," he mused. "Edward also helped us find supporters for our rocketry studies. He didn't like it, but he knew he couldn't let us do all the work all the time." Before he had gotten the whole three-dimensional-array thing into his head and quit working on rockets altogether. "He is so smart, it would impress people."

"Figures," Al said bitterly. Alfons sighed to himself. Not again…. "Is there anything _else_ Brother suddenly started doing? Did he stop eating so much? Did he stop complaining when people called him short?"

"I don't know what he was like before," Alfons said, more sharply than he intended. "I don't know how different he is." He paused. "He didn't eat so much," he couldn't help but say. "We didn't have much food, and I think the automail makes him more hungry."

Al mumbled something under his breath and walked off, just short of stomping.

It was _true_, though. Alfons shook his head.

* * *

A short time later Riza came to rescue him, saying it was time they left. Alfons made no protest. When they reached Gracia's, it was clear that the woman was pleased to see Riza, and immediately began a campaign to get her to stay for dinner. Once she got Elysia's help, Riza was unable to resist.

"Come on." Alfons found Winry tugging on his sleeve, towing Al with her other hand. "Let's let them catch up. I told Gracia we'd take care of dinner."

"But Winry," Al whined, though to Alfons it seemed more on principle, because he followed her to the kitchen readily enough.

"So, what can you make without supervision?" Winry asked, hands on her hips.

"Eggs?" Alfons suggested. Winry sniffed in disdain.

"Bachelor food."

He _did_ have a steady boyfriend, Alfons thought to point out, but decided against it.

"Spaghetti," Winry decided. "And garlic bread, with a salad on the side. Don't look so panicked, it's not that difficult."

It really wasn't, Alfons discovered, as long as you didn't try to make the noodles yourself, and made a mental note to get more cooking tips from Winry for when he and Ed had their own place again. At some point, Al and Winry started swapping jokes, and decided that the fact that Alfons got none of them was even funnier than the jokes themselves.

"But they're not _funny_," Alfons protested, which only make them laugh the more.

Dinner was happy, and for a time it was so easy to forget…. But the spell wore off, Riza left, and Alfons remembered that he wasn't supposed to be sitting around cracking jokes when Edward would be taking the witness stand tomorrow.

Though he was tired, he found himself lying awake in his bed, staring at the darkness, unable to sleep.

Time passed, marked by the uneven movement of light from outside across the ceiling, and the sounds of occasional cars and passers-by. When Al spoke, Alfons thought he was dreaming.

"You're going to take him away, aren't you."

Alfons sat up. "_That's_ what you're worried about _now_?"

"Yes," Al snapped. "Because we'll win this stupid trial, okay? We're going to win it, so I'm going to sit here and feel sorry for myself because you'll take my brother and move away with him. Where'll I go, huh? Fucking Resembool?"

"You could stay with us," Alfons said, because that's what you were supposed to say. Al started laughing, and after a slightly shocked moment, Alfons did too.

"That would be so awkward," Al said.

"It would be awful. Imagine going to sleep-"

"Imagine the neighbors!"

"Imagine the laundry…."

Alfons did, and couldn't laugh anymore because living in the same house, the three of them, was really one of the more terrible things he could think of. It would be a complete disaster.

Judging by his silence, Al seemed to be thinking along the same lines.

Licking his lips, Alfons tried to find something to say. He was so tired of fighting with Al. "We'll figure something out," he said weakly.

For a time, Al didn't answer. Then – "We've been through worse."

"Yes." Alfons thought of Germany, of America, of getting shot, of Edward getting kidnapped. Of dying several times over. "That's true."

"Hell, we're going through worse _right now_."

"It could still be worse," Alfons had to say. "We could also be on trial."

"Go to hell," Al said, without any real venom.

Just a few more hours, Alfons thought, and it would be morning.

And then….

* * *

Edward stood on the witness stand, and swore by all he believed in to tell the truth, all the truth, and nothing but the truth. To Alfons, it was clear that he was preparing to lie, which was kind of strange. Hadn't the whole point of this been that he wouldn't have to–?

Pointless wondering. He would find out soon enough, because Harris was asking his first question.

"Mr. Elric, can you please tell us, in your own words, of the events leading up to your disappearance four years ago?"

Alfons could see Roscoe tempted to interrupt, but curiosity kept him quiet. Starting with this question guaranteed no interference, because it was the one thing everybody was positively dying to know.

Edward (Ed. He kept forgetting) licked his lips. "I'll skip the parts everybody knows," he said. "King Bradley blamed me for Lior, and Al and I were on the run. We didn't have anywhere to go. Somewhere off Dublith we ran into a humanoid chimera named Envy. The bastard sneaked up on us, and kidnapped Al."

The entire soliloquy was delivered almost in monotone, while Ed stared off uncaringly into the distance. Alfons wanted to glance aside and see if Winry, Mustang and Al could separate the truths from the half-truths, but resisted the temptation. They would figure it out.

"I got beat up pretty bad-"

"Why was Envy after your brother?" Harris interrupted gently.

Ed laughed. "Some days _everybody_ was after Al. Walking empty suits of armor are pretty rare. People kept saying it was like being immortal – which is total bullshit – and tried to figure out how to do it themselves, damned if I know why they'd want to…." He caught sight of Harris' face, and got back on track. "So anyway. I picked myself up, and chased them to Central. I had heard there was a city underneath-"

A murmur started up in the audience, and one of the judges banged a gavel for silence.

"Who did you hear this from?" Harris asked.

"Scar."

Who was dead. Alfons resisted the urge to smile at the elegance.

"Anyway." Edward shifted in his seat and shook his hair out of his eyes, swallowed, and continued. "I found a staircase under some broken-down church in the slums and went down. There really was a whole fuck- a whole city down there, totally deserted. Somebody should look into it, really, it's a bad idea to have a vast _cavern_ underneath a city, you know? One of these days we could all-" At a noise from Harris he checked himself.

"Sorry." His voice was pitched just a bit high; he wasn't finding this easy. "Yeah. I searched for a while and found them. Envy and Al. Envy had Al in some kind of array, wanted to do alchemy on him."

"Did you get a look at the array?"

Edward shook his head. "Was too far, and I was kind of distracted. Envy attacked me, and we fought." Edward rushed ahead. "Al was chained down, couldn't do anything. I – well – who gives a damn. The point is, Envy took his arm which had claws and shit on it and shoved it through my chest and I died."

Silence.

Alfons had known it was coming, had heard Edw- Ed speak of it before, but it was different now. Whispers in the dark about Ed's death were less real than a public admission before the court. It was no longer their little story, their secret. It was a documented fact, and he had the brain damage to prove it.

Harris broke the silence, his voice still calm, incongruously so. "How can you know you died?"

"When you feel your heart stop," Edward rasped, "it's not the sort of thing you forget easily."

"And what happened next?"

"There was a white light all around me, and it didn't hurt anymore."

"And then?"

"Hell if I know. Got some blurry memories of random shit, then I woke up in Resembool blind, deaf, and dumb. And you say it's been four years."

Alfons… didn't like that. He didn't like that they were glossing over the time when Edward had been _his_, and that their relationship had supposedly began before Edward's disappearance. So many lies were still being told, and this was supposed to have been Edward's way to come clean…. But it was all for the best. Probably.

Roscoe, meanwhile, had leaped up at the mention of Edward's reappearance.

"Mr. Elric. Edward."

Ed looked at Harris wild-eyed, his hands gripping the stand before him tightly. Even so, he was holding together. Just a bit longer, Alfons thought.

"Tell me about your brother. Why did you turn him into a suit of armor?"

"It was a mistake!" Ed forced the words out, around his hitching breath. "I just – it went wrong, he was dying, I had to do _something_–! I was fucking _eleven_, I didn't think I was going to end up _dead_ because of it!"

Alfons let out a breath. There it was, the plan in all its simplicity. Crazy and audacious and he could do nothing but pray with all his being that it would work.

"How are you still alive?" Harris asked, inexorable.

"I don't know." Ed slumped, sweat dripping down his face. "It couldn't've been proper Human Transmutation, I wouldn't have ended up like this. Wouldn't have left me with scars and holes and _marks_…"

Marked. The word stirred something in Alfons' memory, but he couldn't pin it down.

"How do you know?"  
At that, Ed looked irritated. "I've done it, haven't I? You'd think I'd have a clue by now how it works. You transmute the body, you can't create a soul out of nothing. Who the fuck creates a _damaged_ body?"

Harris turned to Roscoe, smiled, and said, "Your witness."

Roscoe immediately turned to the judges. "Your Honors, according to this story, there has been a clear instance of Human Transmutation in order to resurrect Mr. Elric."

Clearly prepared for this claim, Harris stepped forward. "Whether or not that is true, I ask that you consult the police report investigating the array Alphonse Elric was found using. Experts say that it could not possibly have been used for resurrection, as it is not an array for human transmutation, which certainly clears Alphonse Elric of such charges."

"Human transmutation charges should be investigated by the police. That is not the purpose of this court. Mr. Roscoe, please proceed," Justice Karelin said, his tone closing the matter.

Roscoe nodded and turned to Ed, though now his stance lost some of its previous certainty. Edward made an obvious attempt to straighten up, and mostly failed. Alfons clenched his fists in his lap and bit his lip, to keep from doing or saying something. Couldn't they _see_ that Ed was in no shape to be cross-examined?

"Your Honors," Roscoe said, "perhaps we should call a recess?"

"No!" Ed burst out. "Can we just get this over with? I'm fine, okay? I'm _fine_." The judges exchanged a skeptical glance which Edward definitely saw, because he ran a hand through his hair and straightened up.

"It doesn't get any easier," he pleaded.

Anybody with eyes could see that Edward clearly _wasn't_ fine. He was pale and clammy, and Alfons waited for the judges to-

"Very well," Justice Karelin said. "Proceed."

Morons, Alfons thought, and seethed. At least Roscoe wasn't being so blasé about it, and seemed hesitant to question Edward. What do you ask a person who says they died?

Nonetheless, Roscoe cleared his throat and began. "You say you entered the alleged city under Central searching for your brother. What made you think he was there?"

Edward looked surprised, and frowned. The tense line left his shoulders just a bit, as he contemplated his answer. Alfons thought about how long Edward had been telling him this story, how inevitable everything seemed with each telling, and wondered if he even remembered.

"Scar had cooperated with those chimeras for a while," Ed said finally. "He said they had a base under Central."

It sounded like bullshit, but nobody could prove it anyway. Roscoe looked uncertain, still off balance from Ed's previous revelation. The moment when he decided to hell with it was visible in the way he squared his shoulders and set his jaw.

"You say you died."

"Yes."

"Perhaps you were knocked unconscious?"

"I bled out from a hole in my chest." Edward smiled grimly, his tone taking on the slightly mocking lilt Alfons remembered from Germany. "I couldn't breathe, because he punctured a lung. I couldn't feel my legs. My heart spasmed and then stopped. I've been injured before, and I've been knocked unconscious more times than I can count. This wasn't it."

"So who brought you back?"

"I don't know," Ed responded, just a bit too quickly. Which was strange, since Alfons knew that this was actually sort of the truth, at least according to what Ed had always told him.

"You must have some idea…."

"I don't _know_," Ed snapped. "Whoever did it did a fucking lousy job, anyway!"

Both times, Alfons thought, remembering Al's botched attempt. He resisted the urge to glance at him.

"But-"

"Objection," Harris said. "Mr. Elric has answered the question."

"Sustained," said Justice Castillo.

Gradual silence fell once again, and Roscoe shifted.

Justice Tsamis cleared his throat. "Mr. Roscoe?"

"Do you consider your transmutation of your brother into a suit of armor a successful Human Transmutation?"

What? Alfons exchanged a confused look with Winry. He had no idea what the question was trying to prove. Harris opened his mouth to object, but Edward was already answering.

"No," he said grimly. "It was a stopgap measure to try and save his life. I couldn't think of anything else to do, but it was a crappy solution. You can barely call it Human Transmutation anyway, I didn't even get around to transmuting a body."

"And your… revival? Is that an example of successful Human Transmutation?"

"It's… imperfect." Ed forced out the words. "I'm _alive_, but my body's a mess."

"And whoever restored your brother?"

Ed practically snarled his answer. "How can you call a transmutation that botched his memories _successful_?"

"So, in a sense," Roscoe gave the impression of thinking aloud, "you never actually quite succeeded in what you set out to do."

Seriously, what the hell. Alfons made confused motions at Winry, who waved her arms back at him in equal befuddlement. Was this even a cross-examination anymore? Why didn't somebody make it stop?

"I suppose not," Ed said. He looked down at his hands, his body slumped in exhaustion. "But we're both alive, right? That's more than I could have hoped for. It's more than most people in our situation got."

Roscoe straightened up and looked at the judges, businesslike once more. "No further questions," he said crisply. A murmur ran through the hall, as if everybody had woken up, remembered that they were still in the courtroom.

Winry raised her eyebrows at Alfons, who shook his head. If anything, Roscoe's questions had helped the defense – humanized Ed, emphasized the sadness of his story.

The judges conferred quietly for a few moments, while the room grew noisier and noisier. When he spoke, Justice Tsamis' voice cut through the sound like a knife, leaving silence.

"There are no further witnesses."

Papers were shuffled, and Alfons sat through a few minutes of legalese, biting his lip and watching Ed anxiously. He wondered if he could get him some hot chocolate, or maybe an orange because Ed looked like he could use one, and sighed at the panicked inanity of his own thoughts. Hopefully soon enough they would be able to give Edward whatever he wanted.

The words "closing statements" dragged his attention back to the court proceedings, and he forced his tired mind back to concentration. Some days he missed German so much it was like a physical ache.

Roscoe was first up, and somehow managed to project both firmness and compassion in his voice. A terrible crime had been committed, he said. The guilt was clear. Yes, it was a human and tragic story, but the purpose of the court was to uphold the law. All the empathy in the world couldn't avoid the fact that Human Transmutation was dangerous, was an abomination recognized by all of mankind. In a correct society, crimes must be punished-

"Breathe," Winry whispered. Alfons came back to himself to find that his teeth were clenched so hard they were giving him a headache. He nodded stiffly at her, and tried to relax a bit.

He wanted to punch Roscoe in the face.

Thankfully it was over quickly. Al probably wouldn't have been able to tolerate it much longer, anyway, judging from the way Mustang was gripping his arm.

"You can let go now," he heard Al mumble. "You're leaving fingerprints."

Then Harris stood up, and everybody fell silent. Harris took a moment to survey the room, unnaturally calm, and at that moment he looked nothing like Alfons' father. He was an utter stranger, who was nonetheless defending Ed.

"Your Honors. Ladies and gentlemen. As my esteemed colleague has said, there has been a crime committed. We do not deny it. Nor do we deny that the punishment for Human Transmutation is death. However, I ask this court, how many times does one man have to die until his sins are forgiven?"

_Three_, Alfons couldn't help but think, and had a silly urge to giggle.

"Edward Elric committed a terrible crime, and for that, he paid the price. You have seen the marks of his death scarred on his body, written in his brain, and heard him tell his story. Through some miracle, some twist of fate, he is still alive today. What meaning is there pursuing a punitive punishment? Life can be endlessly cruel, and punish a person for their mistakes forever, but this is a court of law. Here, one cannot be judged for the same crime twice. The punishment for Human Transmutation is death. Edward Elric has already died."

Harris sat down, and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief.

The gavel slammed down.

"We will reconvene in two weeks' time to deliver the verdict. Court is adjourned."


End file.
